Spencer Reid Gets
by Lily Zen
Summary: A series of one-shots chronicling the adventures and misadventures of Reid in a relationship. OFC. Het. Each chapter is its own story, hence why its marked as complete.
1. Laid

Spencer Reid Gets…

**Laid**

Fandom: Criminal Minds**  
**

Pairing: Reid x OC

Rating: M

Warnings: heterosexual sex

Archive: Ask

Author: Lily Zen

Notes: I decided that I'm writing a series of short, related one-shots chronicling the evolution of Dr. Spencer Reid in a relationship with an original character. They will vary in ratings, but I am giving the entire series an over-all rating of M due to the mature content some stories will feature. Obviously this one is going to contain some citrus.

Disclaimer: I don't own Criminal Minds or any of the characters from this show. I simply love the fictional character, Dr. Reid, and lust after Matthew Gray Gubler. Should MGG happen to stumble upon this, he should drop me a line, lol.

* * *

"Why did I ever let him talk me into this?" Dr. Reid mumbled to himself, sipping at his second brandy, regretting the beer, and feeling the effects of the alcohol in his bloodstream.

He should have said no when Morgan asked him to go out after work.

He'd been about to, but then Morgan had somehow shanghaied a yes out of him. Yeah, he was supposed to be the genius on the team, but tell that to the master manipulator. 'Pick-up tips, my ass,' he thought darkly, 'More like a wingman.'

Then, of course, Morgan had struck gold with the honeys, as he called them, and was out on the dance floor, leaving Spencer Reid drinking by himself.

Just then a girl slid into the seat across from him at the otherwise-abandoned table he occupied and plunked another glass of brandy in front of him.

She was very pretty, with classic features, and intense green eyes enhanced with make-up. Her hair was brown, cut short and trendy, and shot through with black and violet.

She grinned as he looked up with a questioning expression and said, "Hey. You looked torn between anger and loneliness, so I thought I'd bring you another drink to calm the first and my fine-ass self over to remedy the second."

As she spoke, he noticed that her tongue was pierced and wondered if it had hurt. Reid smiled for the first time in forty minutes and let out a miniscule laugh. "Thanks for that."

"Not a problem. Name's Alix. What's yours?"

"Spencer."

"Pleasure's all mine," she said and they shook hands, "So what's up, Spence? Why are you sitting here all by your lonesome?"

"I came with a friend. He's over there," Spencer motioned over to Morgan on the dance floor, grinding with some woman.

"And he just ditched you for some tail? Man, whatever happened to 'bros before hoes?'" Alix shook her head a little disgustedly, but then quirked a smile. "Not that I'm complaining."

"Why is that?" he replied with a small furrow between his brow, and took a small drink of his brandy.

"Well, 'cause it gave me an excuse to come over here and hit on you," she said with a sort of 'duh' tone in her voice.

Reid promptly choked on his drink and started coughing, which prompted Alix to start laughing. When the episode had passed and he could breathe easily again, he realized that she was gently rubbing his back—had been, despite her laughter, trying to help him through his coughing fit. He was at an obvious loss of what to do.

Alix stated, "Man, you are just too cute," and withdrew her hand. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. I just…It just…"

"Went down the wrong pipe?" she suggested with a sweet smile.

"Ah, yes." He ducked his head, feeling embarrassed.

"Drink some more," she suggested, eerily intuitive, shrugging one shoulder slightly, "The embarrassment will fade." He took her advice, deciding that it was probably the smartest thing he'd heard in awhile. "So, tell me about yourself."

"Ah, well…like what?"

"What do you do? Let's start there."

"I'm a profiler with the FBI," he replied, grateful to be on familiar, steady ground.

"Really? BAU?" she asked, and he nodded slowly.

"Are you with the Bureau?" Reid asked her, though she didn't look like any agent he'd ever seen.

Her eyes darted around quickly, then she nodded. "Yeah. Working a case over in Mount Vernon. As far as my cover's concerned, I'm at a funeral right now. I'm really not supposed to be here, but I couldn't stand being cooped up in a motel room 'til tomorrow."

Spencer's eyebrows raised in alarm. "Aren't you worried about getting caught?"

She waved a hand dismissively, saying, "Live a little. Besides, I'm careful."

"You could still get caught."

"They won't reprimand me in the middle of a case."

"If you say so." His voice conveyed his doubt.

"Trust me." She winked playfully, and Reid put aside his worries and continued conversing with her.

Over an hour later, both were noticeably tipsier, and Alix had found her groove, flirting fiercely. Spencer was flustered and flattered by the attention, and when Morgan noticed and looked like he was going to come over, Reid discreetly signaled that he should stay away. Morgan grinned and went back to his new lady-friend.

Finally, with her hand on his thigh, she leaned in close and asked, "So, Spencer, are you going to take me home with you tonight or what?"

Utterly flummoxed, he stuttered out, "I…um…"

"You're cute and I want to do you," she added.

"Uh…"

"Listen, I'm too drunk to drive, so I'm going to settle my tab up at the bar and call a cab. If you want to, you can come with me. No pressure," she offered, "And if you're not down with having sex with me, I would be perfectly content just hanging out. You can show me more magic tricks." Alix nudged his shoulder playfully with her own and slid off the chair.

He watched her walk up to the bar, eyeing the sway of her hips. He knew it probably wasn't the best idea to leave with her. The analyst, the agent inside of him was listing off reasons: she was undercover, he'd just met her, one in four people will contract an STD in their lives and he didn't have any condoms at home. However, for all his intellect, he was still a man—a slightly drunk one, at that—and watching her as she walked back to the table was swaying his vote in the other direction.

She cocked her head to the side, looked at him with an indiscernible emotion in her eyes, and asked, "Coming?" Her hand lifted, a peaceful offering, and much to his own surprise he took it and stood up.

"Let's go," Spencer responded with a smile, and her façade fell for an instant showing surprise, vulnerability, excitement, happiness, lust. It was so fast, like lighting flashing across the sky, and then she seemed to reign it all in just as quickly.

"Great!" Alix was back to being cheerful and friendly. He wondered if all undercover agents were so guarded.

They left the bar then and got in a cab. Spencer gave him directions to his apartment.

Firmly ensconced in the back of the vehicle, which smelled faintly of sauerkraut for some odd reason, he finally found the courage to ask, "So do you have any, um, protection?"

"Of the Kevlar variety, or are we talking about wrapping prior to tapping?" Alix teased, though she knew what he meant, he was sure of it. There was something in her smile that said she just wanted to hear him say it.

He squirmed uncomfortably for a minute, then stated, "Wrapping."

She giggled, shook her head negatively, and told him, "I'm on birth control, but if it would make you more comfortable, we can stop somewhere on the way."

"It would," Reid admitted, "Though it's nothing…"

"Personal. I gotcha. You don't know me or where I've been. No offense taken," Alix added with a smile and a look of respect on her face, "Are there any convenience stores en route?"

"Ah, yeah…" He asked the driver to stop at the Grab 'n Go down the road from his apartment complex.

"The meter is still running," the driver added as they both slid out of the car.

"Don't worry, we'll be fast," Alix said as she shut the door and followed Spencer inside the building.

They faced their next dilemma as they stared at the condom display. "Why are there so many types?" Reid asked in bemusement.

Alix shrugged. "Different strokes for different folks. Any preferences?"

"Uh, no, I don't think so…"

"Size?"

"I…Average, I guess?" Alix laughed at his hesitance, and he continued, "You know, this is possibly the most awkward conversation of my life. Also, I feel like I've stepped into an episode of _The Twilight Zone_. Do you have…a preference?"

She shrugged, grabbed a green box and admitted, "No preferences, but I do have a passionate love of the color green."

"You pick out condoms based on box color?"

"Hell yeah, I do. They're all pretty much the same," she grabbed his hand and tugged him towards the register, "So I take it that you don't do this often?"

"What? Meet beautiful women at the bar and take them home with me the same night? Ah, no. Do you?"

"Meet beautiful women at the bar and take them home with me the same night? All the time, gorgeous, all the fucking time," she winked. Spencer laughed outright, feeling some of his tension dissolve under the weight of her wit and cavalier attitude. He paid for the box of condoms, which was surprisingly expensive, and they went back out to find that the cab was gone.

"Oh well," Alix said, "At least we didn't have to pay. How far of a trek is it from here?"

"It's just two blocks down the road."

"Eh, that's nothing."

They walked at a leisurely pace, talking quietly, with Alix easing the tension from him and simultaneously igniting the passion. His hand was still in hers, and he was shocked to find that it felt quite natural. He tried not to over-analyze that.

Spencer's apartment wasn't very large. There was a galley kitchen off of the living room, a bathroom, and a bedroom. The furniture was sparse and neutrally colored, and Alix deduced it was probably Ikea, and there was almost nothing personal on the walls or end tables. There wasn't much point to it as he never spent much time there. He had books though—lots and lots of books, which was something she could appreciate. Her eyes scanned the titles, noticing their variety of subjects, though his collection of classics was quite extensive. He noticed where her eyes seemed to be stuck.

"I, ah, read a lot," he told her.

"Me too. I'm a little jealous of your collection," Alix said with a smile, "If I had such a great library, I'd never leave my house, career be damned." She parted from him, inexorably drawn to the book shelves, and he watched her fingers dance over the spines.

"What are your favorites?" he asked.

"Oh, I like a lot of different stuff. Fiction, non-fiction, classics, more modern stuff, plays, philosophy, mythology, theology, essays, poetry…I'm all over the map," she replied as her index finger lingered on a copy of _Anna Karenina_.

"I guess so. Can I get you something to drink while you're exploring?" He asked the question a little hesitantly, a little awkwardly, like he didn't have many guests—which he didn't.

Alix turned and put her back up against the bookshelves, one eyebrow quirked up. "Do you really want to wait until we've exhausted all our avenues of small-talk, or do you want me to take off my clothes and fuck you stupid sometime before dawn?"

Reid paused, unsure of how to answer. "Is this a trick question?"

She smirked a bit and shook her head. "I'm sorry. I'm making you uncomfortable, aren't I? You said you didn't have much experience with this sort of thing. I guess I'm just impatient. I'll try to reign in my baser urges."

"No, no, that's not it! I just don't know the protocol here," Spencer hurried to explain lest she leave before anything even happened. He was exasperated with himself and his own social awkwardness.

"Protocol?" she questioned while she unzipped her leather jacket and slung it over the back of his sole armchair. Her t-shirt was bright green with zebra stripes on it, her black jeans were tight, and her Converses had been kicked off at the door. "There's no particular protocol. I guess I'm just used to guys being all up on me the second I show some interest. It's frustrating—your uncertainty, your innocence. Frankly, part of me is saying that I should just keep it PG tonight. Admittedly, it's a very small part, but it's there nonetheless.

"Of course, there's a much larger, much hornier part of me that's saying I should just back you into a corner and take control. Your virginal behavior has me quite on edge." She prowled around the room, alternating her gaze from him to the books, the look in her eyes almost…predatory. "But if you would rather we just talk, that's okay too. I'm not into coercion, at least not in my personal relations." But she was still moving ever-closer to him in that round-about way. "Like I said, I really don't mind if all you want to do is hang out."

Then Alix was standing right in front of him, invading his personal space, smelling of sandalwood and bar smoke, her face tipped up at him, her eyes intense. The eye contact was surprisingly intimate and she was so close to him that it seemed unnatural that there would be no contact between them. All night long she'd touched him—little signs of flirtation and interest—that the space between them screamed to be filled.

The sudden silence was growing unbearable, and she was still gazing intently in his eyes, searching. When she found what she was looking for—whatever it was—she blinked, smiled a bit, and then brushed past him on her way into the tiny kitchen. "So what do you have to drink?" she asked.

Spencer let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding, and followed her into the kitchen. "Let me check." Opening the fridge, he stared at its meager contents, chagrined. "Not much, I'm afraid-a questionable half-gallon of milk, some orange juice, and a pitcher of red Kool-Aid. I could make a pot of coffee, if you'd like."

He turned his head slightly to see what Alix thought, and was startled to find himself almost nose-to-nose with her. She giggled at the expression on his face, kissed his cheek, and swiftly pulled out the pitcher of Kool-Aid. "This is good. Where are your cups?"

"You take great delight in throwing people off-balance, don't you?" Reid questioned as he pulled two cups out of the dishwasher.

"To a certain extent, absolutely, but mostly I just wanted to kiss you. Be glad it was only your cheek. If I'd really kissed you, you probably would have melted into a puddle of goo."

"That good, hey?" he teased as he held the cups still and she poured.

As she replaced the Kool-Aid in the fridge, she purred, "You have no idea, sweet-cheeks."

"Sweet-cheeks?"

"Yes," she nodded and sipped her beverage, "You have the most adorable ass."

…And for the second time that night, Spencer Reid choked on his drink.

Also for the second time that night, Alix laughed delightedly…and possibly a bit sadistically. "Are you alright? You seem to have a terrible habit of doing that."

"Only because you insist on saying things that cause that reaction," Spencer said when he could speak without coughing, but it was said with a slight smile.

Alix accepted the lighthearted reprimand with a chuckle, plucked his cup out of his hands, and moved to replace the cup with her hips. "Then you'd best stop drinking around me, as I doubt I'll stop shocking you anytime soon," she paused, "And, fair warning, I'm going to kiss you now. Properly, this time."

"Will I melt?" Spencer wondered aloud humorously as his hands tightened subconsciously on her waist and pulled her closer. In the farthest corner of his rational mind, he noticed that she was surprisingly petite for all her huge personality.

"Probably," she replied as she stood up on her toes and brushed impossibly soft lips against his. Her hands reached up around him, steadying herself on his shoulders. Better balanced, she kissed him again with a bit more pressure, lips slightly parted, lingering.

He responded by flattening a hand against the small of her back, pressing her physically closer as he kissed her back mirroring her technique. He felt her start to smile, but before it ever truly formed, she took his lower lip between hers, giving it a gentle tug and then a questing lick. Like she had just inputted some sort of code, Spencer opened his mouth to her and she swept inside, soft and insistent, subversive and persuasive. Her tongue teased and tortured his, jacking his arousal up to a blazing fire.

They parted for air briefly and then resumed kissing, growing ever frantic and intense. Her hands found his hair, fisting the wavy strands. His hands were running up and down her back, feeling her sinewy muscles. Riding a sudden wave of boldness, he palmed her ass and pulled her flush up against him, tight enough that he could feel the soft swells of her breasts against his chest, her belly, and her thighs brushing his.

She mewled in response—it was the only way he could think to describe the sound—and pushed, and Spencer abruptly felt the countertop behind him. He leaned instinctively, slouching a bit so that Alix wouldn't have to strain so much on tip-toe and he wouldn't get a crick in his neck kissing her. The action made her lean into him harder, and she rolled her hips, rocking against his stiff dick and forcing a groan out of him which she simply swallowed into her mouth.

Only when breath became a necessity did they break from each other, panting harshly, but even oxygen wasn't enough to deter Alix for very long. Instead, she simply moved her attention from his lips to his neck, pressing gentle, open-mouthed kisses along the sensitive skin there interspersed with quick flicks of her tongue and occasionally teeth. Spencer was in rapture, quickly losing any rational thought he tried to have, except, "My bed's really comfortable…"

Alix pulled back with a startled laugh, and replied saucily, "Oh, is it? I guess I'll have to test that out then." It was then that Reid thought to himself that even if Alix's kisses didn't have the power to melt a human being, they certainly had enough power to scramble brain signals, because he hadn't meant to blurt that out. She grabbed his hand and the box of condoms, and tugged him out of the kitchen. However, it was Spencer who led the way to his bedroom.

Like the living room, the bedroom was pretty sparse. There was the bed with a mission-style headboard, a dresser, and end tables on either side of the bed. It was obvious that Reid didn't spend a lot of time there.

Alix didn't seem to mind the lack of feminine touches there, tossing the condoms onto the nearest nightstand, and flopping back onto the bed. She seemed to stand out in stark contrast to the simple navy comforter. "Hm…well, it's comfortable according to the Alix Flop Test, but how does it stand up against rigorous physical stress?"

"I'm not sure," Reid admitted with a nervous smile from where he stood next to the bed.

The young woman smiled, held out her hand to him, and when he took it, tugged him down next to her. "Guess we'll have to find out then." He kissed her then, because damned if he could do anything but when she smiled like that. Alix tugged him close as their mouths moved against one another, tangling limbs together just as thoroughly as tongues. Her ever-curious fingers slipped underneath his shirt to stroke his stomach, and when Spencer groaned, she pulled back and started undoing buttons.

It didn't take long until the shirt flopped open, and Alix pulled away long enough to glare at his white undershirt. "Really? Fucking layers…" she grumbled, and he laughed, sitting up to shuck both items of clothing. Getting naked for the first time in front of someone was always nerve-wracking—there was always that small vein of insecurity that ran through him—but Alix didn't even pause. She just smiled beatifically and placed her hand on his chest.

"May I?" he asked, and it was then that she noticed her shirt, which was tugged up half-way and bunched around her stomach. She bit her lower lip, abruptly looking vulnerable, and then nodded her acquiescence. Alix sat up obligingly, and Spencer pushed her t-shirt up, running his hands along her skin as he did so. When her shirt was tossed aside, her arms came down around him, and they kissed again. He wondered if it was too soon after the removal of her t-shirt to peel off her bra as he fingered the black straps.

Like she knew what he was thinking, Alix reached behind her and undid the clasp, and his hands removed the obstruction. The feel of her bare breasts pressed up against him, her nipples tightened in arousal, drove him crazy, and he pushed them back onto the bed.

His caresses grew more frantic and she became wilder in direct proportion, using teeth and nails more frequently, though with the amount of adrenaline pumping through them, neither noticed the roughness. He heard a muffled sound as Alix popped the button on his slacks and the sound of teeth as the zipper parted. The sudden relief on his straining member made him pant and the feel of her hand on him made him gasp soon after.

"Alix," he said as her hand moved in a torturous rhythm.

"Mm?" she responded, her mouth quirking impishly.

"Jesus…oh…" Her fingers were distracting him, making him lose his focus. His hands tightened into fists, the button of her jeans digging into his left palm, which immediately reminded him what he'd wanted. Spencer pulled himself together and unsnapped her jeans.

The loss of her touch as she stood up to wiggle out of her jeans and her black lacy underwear was almost a physical blow. He took the opportunity to lose the remainder of his clothes as well, and when they resettled on the bed, it was with soft sounds of excitement and eager bodies.

Alix reached over and ripped open the box of condoms, tearing one off with her teeth. "Now?" he questioned quietly as she rolled it onto his length, and she nodded as her breath came quick.

"Now," she replied while she rose up over him and used one hand to line him up with her entrance. He had enough time to grab her hips, and then she sank down on him with a low grunt. One moment there was nothing, and the next he was surrounded in a tight, hot sheath. Alix's back curved as her eyes slammed shut, and then a small smile made her lips curve upward.

She opened her eyes and began to move her hips in an easy rhythm, using his headboard as leverage. It took him a moment, but eventually he found a rhythm to match hers. It didn't take long until she found her pleasure, her body tightening even more impossibly around him.

"Oh!" Alix cried as she came, fisting the blanket tightly.

While her inner muscles were still contracting, Spencer forced her onto her back, plunging into her with long, deep strokes. Her hands clutched at his derriere, pulling him into her harder. "Yes, yes," she breathed out at the end of each of his thrusts like a punctuation mark. Then she bit him on his collarbone and he came with a forcefulness that made him take her lips again to muffle the sounds of pleasure that begged for release.

Like it had been triggered by his own orgasm, Alix shuddered and contracted once more, her head bowing backwards as a moan escaped.

Sometime later when they were both laying contently, partially cleaned up, she finally found her words again. "God," she said slowly, "That was good."

"Yes," Spencer agreed as he tightened his grip on her, lips brushing against her mussed up hair.

They were quiet for a few more minutes, then he asked, "So can I see you again?"

Alix chuckled tiredly as she nodded. "Yeah, I'd like that. I'll leave you my number. It might have to wait 'til I close this case, but I'd like you see you again too."

"Good," he replied, a tired smile crossing his face. There was another moment of quiet between the two of them, but it wasn't an uncomfortable silence.

"Spence?" Alix began.

"Yeah?"

"I can't stay. I'd like to, but I can't," she said.

"Oh." His voice carried his disappointment transparently.

"It's the case, that's all. I've got to get back to my motel and check in with my superior early tomorrow morning." She sighed and her breath ghosted across his chest.

"I understand," he said.

Alix sat up, smiled, and stated, "So I'll need your cell or a pen and paper. Your choice."

* * *

-FIN-


	2. A Date

Spencer Reid Gets…

**A Date**

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: Reid/OFC

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: sexy times, odd humor, fairies (literally)

Archive: Ask

Author: Lily Zen

Notes: Given the lapse in time between the first story and this one, I've had to adjust a few things. AGGA is not a real association, but it should be.

Disclaimer: Alexis 'Alix' Blackwood is mine. Spencer Reid and Criminal Minds are not. Sadly. But if MGG wants to be mine, that'd be just fine and dandy. Also, I don't own the movie FernGully, which really is a fabulous (kids) flick, or Durex Extra Safe condoms, which made me laugh hysterically when I saw them because that is totally something Reid would buy.

* * *

Morgan was all over Reid the next day, asking where he'd gone and what had happened to 'the cute alt chick' he was talking to at the bar. Reid remained stubbornly silent about the whole thing, even when Garcia and Prentiss got involved in the teasing.

He figured if Alix was undercover then he probably shouldn't talk about her. In the meantime, they e-mailed back and forth through the secure server at work.

It was over a week later that Alix closed her case.

She danced her way into the BAU headquarters wearing a black blazer over what Reid had come to think of as quintessential Alix-wear—a white v-neck tee, torn up blue jeans, and scuffed Converses—and a brilliant grin.

Reid was doing paperwork at his desk when she found him.

"Hey," he heard, and looked up, startled by the interruption.

"Hey," Spencer replied with a smile.

"I was so psyched I figured I'd just take a little trip over to the BAU and tell you the good news in person," she began.

"You closed your case?" he asked.

"Hell yeah, and I won the bet on top of that."

"The bet?"

"Yup," Alix said, popping the 'p,' "We closed before Friday, so I got to kick Farmer in the balls. I'd be surprised if he ever has kids now. I'm glad I won, otherwise I was going to have to take half his case files off his desk." She pantomimed wiping sweat off her forehead.

"You know, that kind of latent hostility implies—"

"Spencer, I don't care what it implies," she interrupted with easy grace, "Until I go on a mass murdering spree, I don't want to be profiled."

"Sorry," he grimaced, "Work hazard."

Alix shrugged her shoulders. "It's cool. I understand. So anyway, about that—"

"Well, well, what do we have here?" Morgan's voice interrupted them, "Reid, have you been hiding Alt Girl from me this whole time?" Alix regarded Morgan with raised eyebrows, then turned the same look onto Reid, who looked properly chagrined by his co-worker's behavior.

Then she turned back to Morgan and asked, "Did you really give me a nickname based on an internet porn trend? I'm not sure whether to be flattered or affronted. Regardless, it's a stupid nickname. Call me Alix."

"Derek Morgan," he replied, and they shook hands firmly, "Sorry about the internet porn nickname."

"Forgiven. Just don't ever use it again. I have eyes and ears all over the Bureau—I'll know if you cheat," she threatened with a stern face and a smile in her voice.

"Good deal. So what are you two kids talking about?" he asked, shifting his stance to indicate that he was planning on sticking around.

Reid looked like he wanted to crawl under his desk. Mentally, he debated the merits of running out of the bullpen, dragging Alix behind him. Then he decided that would only make the teasing worse. His only saving grace was that Prentiss and Seaver were out having lunch together. Maybe he could escape this situation unscathed.

He felt a soft tapping on his wrist, and looked up from his keyboard to find Alix leaning against his desk, discreetly patting his wrist in sympathy. She gave him a quick wink to let him know everything was alright.

"Well, Morgan," Alix was saying, "I was just about to ask Spencer out on a date, but you're kind of killing my smooth delivery."

"Aw, hey, I'm sorry," Derek said, smiling sheepishly. He rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously. "Reid, pretend I was never here." The large man walked off and went to his own desk.

"I am so sorry," Spencer mumbled to Alix, "I hope he didn't make you uncomfortable."

Alix waved a dismissive hand. "Not much makes me uncomfortable. I've got an older brother who's a lot like that. So, before your other team members sit me down for the third degree, how 'bout that date?"

"What happened to your smooth delivery?" Reid joked.

"Morgan already killed it," Alix stated matter-of-factly, "Clubbed it to death like a baby seal."

He blanched, "Oh god, that's awful."

She chuckled. "Tell that to my decimated delivery method."

"Is tonight good for you?" Spencer asked hesitantly, "It doesn't look like we'll be flying out, but…"

Alix shrugged one shoulder elegantly. "If something comes up and you gotta jet, just send me a text or something on your way out of town. That way I'll know to just put on my jim-jams and watch FernGully."

"What's FernGully?" he wondered aloud, and her mouth gaped open.

"Only the best kids movie ever! Jeez. What could be better than fairies telling you to save the environment?" Her head shook back and forth, and for the first time he noticed that she was wearing really long antiqued silver earrings. "I'll have to educate you some night."

He smiled hesitantly and asked, "Really?"

"Absolutely. FernGully is not an experience to be missed." She grinned and tucked her hair behind her ear. "So call me when you get out of here, okay? We'll hang and it'll be awesome. I gotta get back to work." Slowly, she straightened up.

"Okay," Spencer nodded and then he surprised himself by saying, "Let me walk you out."

"Sounds good," she grinned, and together they moved towards the exit.

Garcia breezed past them on the way in, and Alix casually said, "Hey, Nell, how's it going?"

"Great. You?" The analyst responded absently.

"Staying out of trouble," Alix called back, and both women laughed.

By then, Reid and Alix were both out of the bullpen, and she was hitting the down arrow on the elevator. "You know Garcia?" he asked, a little slow on the uptake.

"Oh, is that what you call her?" Alix replied, "Yeah, we both volunteer with AGGA. That stands for Amazing Girl Genius Association. It's kind of a mentorship thing where women mentor girls and encourage them to pursue higher education. I've got one girl who's working on a science fair project right now. Her hypothesis is that magnetism can affect plant growth in a noticeable way. It's pretty cool. I've also got a girl that I'm helping study for her SATs and apply for scholarships."

"Really?"

"You sound surprised," Alix said with smirk, "It's a good organization and I like helping other people achieve their goals. I didn't have anybody to motivate me or help me out. My dad is kind of blue collar and old-fashioned, and after the divorce, my mom threw herself headlong into her second childhood. She still hasn't quite come out of it. My brother is great now, but back then he was pretty preoccupied with his own life—I was just his annoying little sister."

"That must have been difficult. My mother always encouraged me," Reid marked, but Alix just smiled.

"It's only difficult if you choose to think of it that way. Honestly, I think it was character building. I turned out to be really self-sufficient and resourceful. God, this elevator is really slow." Her body shifted as she rocked back on her heels, then finally the generic ding signifying that the elevator had reached their floor sounded.

"So, tonight, right?" she asked as the doors slid open.

"Yep."

"I won't try and kiss you goodbye. Your team members are peering out into the hallway," she laughed and Reid shot an exasperated look over his shoulder. Sure enough, there they were.

"Okay. Bye, Alix." He waved.

"Bye, Spence!" she called as the doors slid shut.

* * *

Just as he was about to leave for the day, Hotch called everyone up to the conference room.

Spencer sent her a text on his way to the airport.

It was just before take-off and he was about to shut his phone off when he got her reply.

_Don't worry about it. Call me when you get back, sweet-cheeks! I'll woo you with fairies then! ;)_

Everybody looked at him oddly when he started laughing out loud.

* * *

Reid was gone for two days, and when the case closed he called Alix while he was clearing out his hotel room.

"Duchess' Dungeon of Dark Delights. This is Duchess. What's your pleasure?" A woman's voice purred over the receiver.

"Um…Alix?" he questioned, not quite sure if he'd gotten it right.

The woman laughed and her voice shifted a bit back into her normal speaking range. "Hey, Spencer, what's up? Are you back in town yet?"

"Ah, we just closed the case. I'm packing my things as we speak. What's up with the dungeon greeting?"

"Oh," she laughed embarrassedly, "I was expecting a call from my sister-in-law. One of my favorite hobbies is flustering her with outrageous greetings. You should have heard her the time I answered in Spanish. The only words she understood were 'fuck' and 'burro,' and that was enough to set her off."

"Oh," he replied, his voice small.

"Yeeeeaaaah," Alix drew out the word, covering the awkward silence.

"Sometimes I don't know what to make of you," Spencer admitted.

"Sometimes I get that feeling," she replied, "It's okay though. I'm kind of used to it from other people."

"Should I be apologizing for that?" His brow furrowed in confusion.

"No, no," Alix stated hurriedly, "I use odd behavior as a shield to keep people from seeing my vulnerabilities. At least that's what the shrink told me when I had my initial evaluation at the Bureau."

"Is that what you think?"

"Are you shrinking me, Spencer?"

"I—" He rubbed a hand over his forehead. "Not intentionally. I think I'm still in work mode."

"Okay. Well, such a deal I've got for you then. What are you doing when your plane lands?"

"I'm not sure. I think the answer is 'not going home.'"

Alix laughed over the line, stating matter-of-factly, "Correct as usual, King Friday. I know once I get off a case, I'm usually filled with all sorts of jittery energy. I'm assuming it's a similar situation with you; otherwise you would have waited 'til tomorrow to call. So why don't you come over and have a late dinner with me? I'll woo you with eco-friendly fairies and Scrabble."

And suddenly Spencer was smiling. "That sounds great, but I feel like I should warn you that I have an eidetic memory and I've read the dictionary."

Her laughter was like a whip-crack. "Well, in light of that you may have an unfair advantage. Perhaps we should play a game of chance. I have a lot of games at my place 'cause I watch my nephews pretty regularly. They love their kooky Aunt Alix. You can pick."

"Okay. I'll call you when I get to my car."

"Excellent." Alix rattled off her address quickly then said she had to go figure out what she was going to cook. "Oh, and Spencer?"

"Yes?"

"Stop for condoms." She hung up laughing before he could respond.

He tucked his phone in his pocket grinning ruefully.

* * *

Four hours later the jet touched down in Virginia.

It was another twenty before he got to his car, and he punched in Alix's number from memory as he unlocked the door.

She answered on the second ring sounding harried. "Mel, I told you I can't tonight. You're just going to have to suck it up and pay the damn kid."

"What?"

"Shit, Spencer, I'm sorry. My sister's been calling me for the past two hours, trying to get me to take her kids tonight. She has a hard time with the word 'no.'"

"Do you need to cancel?" he asked as he turned the key in the ignition.

Alix snorted. "No. It's not an emergency or anything. She's just cheap and her usual babysitter raised her fee. Besides, I think if you backed out now I might have to beat you up the next time I see you—I'm actually cooking, which is a momentous occasion usually coinciding with planetary alignment and blue moons."

Spencer chuckled as he played with his key ring, then a thought seemed to occur to him. "Literally?" He heard Alix snort derisively and her next words came out soaked in sarcasm.

"Yes, Spencer, literally."

"Ha, ha," he snarked back, beginning to get used to the rhythm of her conversation and the way her mind worked, "I just asked because that would be really interesting if it were true."

"I get it. A study on women who cook, what they cook and when, what dates it coordinates with on the calendar year. It would be interesting to see if any patterns emerge. Myself, I don't cook often because after work it just seems like a lot of effort to go through just for me. I have started freezing meals that I cook over the weekend so that I can just heat and eat when I get home. Makes more sense to me, and it keeps me from eating fast food which is a plus. I fucking hate McDonalds."

"Did you know that the healthiest fast food is actually Wendy's?" Spencer commented absently.

"Really? Well, I guess that makes sense. They have a lot of salads and stuff."

"No, it's something about how they cook their meat patties. Well, I'm about to leave the parking lot, so what's your address?"

Alix rattled off her address and then said, "It's a smaller converted warehouse. You'll have to call me when you get here 'cause I have to come let you in."

"Okay. I just have one more question before I go…" He was feeling kind of awkward asking it, but he figured that Alix would laugh.

"Shoot," she replied merrily.

"What color are you in the mood for tonight?"

Her laughter made his squirming embarrassment ease. "How about blue? That's supposedly a relaxing color, and this is supposed to be a relaxing night." Spencer grinned and turned the key in his car's ancient ignition.

"Okay, blue it is," he responded, "Bye, Alix."

"See you soon, Spencer." He hit the end call button then and put the phone back in its holder.

Spencer drove away from the headquarters and into an area of the city that used to be mostly businesses and warehouses. Over time most of the businesses had left, moving to more fruitful areas closer to the rich suburbs. However, the area in question was experiencing revitalization as property owners looked for places to expand. Buildings were getting torn down or remodeled as they were changed into apartments and condominiums. He thought they were even planning on putting a grocery store near the area within the next year.

At the first gas station he saw, he pulled up to the pump—he was almost on e—and went in to pay. Of course, he had to take a slight detour down the aisles, eyes scanning for blue boxes of rubbers. One caught his attention—Durex Extra Safe. The package read 'for those who want the ultimate reassurance.' Grabbing a small box, he headed up to the register, paid, and was back outside in a flash.

Alix's building was one of those that had been remodeled into eclectic studios and loft-style apartments. In its former life, she informed him cheerily as she met him at the door, it was a small newspaper. "Though it had been shut down almost a decade when I found it. My brother owns it now, and I helped with some of the design and remodeling. What was the point I was getting at? Oh yeah, just in case you were curious about the industrial feel of it."

All of the sudden, Alix stopped walking and turned to face him. "I'm sorry. I'm babbling, aren't I? My bad." She smiled sheepishly and ducked her head a bit. "I guess I'm a little hyper."

"It's alright," Spencer said as he eyed the door's brushed nickel seven, "It was interesting. So your brother is your landlord?"

"Yes," she bobbed her head up and down, and Spencer noticed that the purple and black in her hair had been replaced with a more natural looking red. "Technically, I'm the on-site building manager, which is basically another name for 'complaint department.'" Her long fingers reached out and grasped a brushed nickel doorknob that was obviously selected to match the numbers, and Spencer almost grinned when he saw her fluorescent blue nail polish, wondering if Alix and Garcia traded style tips.

The door opened, revealing a rather open floor plan, and Alix meandered through, showing him from 'room' to 'room.' The apartment reflected her personality very strongly, complete with kitschy artwork, interesting colors and patterns, and sometimes incongruous pieces of furniture. However, the thing that really caught his attention was all the books scattered throughout. She had a bookcase that leaned against one wall like a ladder, a few obviously custom-made shelves, and still they seemed to spill onto end tables. There was even a pair of purple geode bookends on a baker's rack with a row of books between them. One was titled 'The Handy Space Answer Book.'

"Wow, you weren't kidding—you really do like to read," he commented with the slightest amount of surprise.

Alix ran a fluorescent blue fingernail over the spines of Catcher In The Rye, A Streetcar Named Desire, I Was Told There'd Be Cake, and a book on the Kabbalah. "Bet your ass I do." She turned and casually grabbed his hand, leading him towards the dining area. "So this is it. My 'room' is behind the curtain. You may see that should the time come."

"You mean that whole curtained off part is your bedroom?" He looked over his shoulder at the area. It was a little raised up off the floor—a few steps—and had dark curly wrought iron balustrade around it. There were panels of different shades of violet fabric suspended from the ceiling. He estimated it was almost a quarter of the apartment's square footage.

"Yes," Alix replied, "I designed that area myself. This used to be the break room. There's an outdoor balcony on the other side of my room. Really, I just installed the fencing and the curtains. Not the bomb-ass crib I'm sure you were expecting, what with my high-paying job in law enforcement and everything, but it's roomy enough for me, and Rob doesn't scalp me on the rent."

"It's nice. Interesting details," he added, "You seem to have quite the creative streak."

"Mm, I guess," she responded airily, "So are you hungry?" Her lips stretched into a smile. "I made parmesan chicken. The noodles are optional. Oh, and salad. You're not strictly meatatarian, are you?"

"No," he chuckled as he pulled out a chair at the table, "I'm not vegetarian either."

"Good, otherwise we can't be friends anymore." Alix waltzed into the kitchen area, trailing a few feet ahead of Reid and he hung back a little, not bothering to use his longer legs to catch up. He liked watching her. The hair was different and the clothes were a little less youthful than he'd first seen her in. Magenta leggings hugged shapely curves and a long tunic-style top in black graced her upper half, the edges covering most of her derriere. She was in shape. You had to be as a field agent. Even Spencer worked out, though it wasn't obvious. He'd never bulk up like Morgan or even Hotch, but he was tougher than he looked. He had learned his lesson early with the team, having gotten his ass kicked just a little too often out in the field to be comfortable with it.

It took a lot of work since his natural body type tended towards lean and lanky, but he had eventually started to put on a little muscle mass. Endurance-wise, he could keep up with Morgan on the track.

Spencer didn't realize he was staring at the curve of her butt underneath the top until she stopped at the stove and turned to him with an expression of amusement on her face. "You know I was just kidding, right? I don't hate on veg-heads. It only bugs me when they get up on their soap boxes about much I suck 'cause I eat pork ribs."

"Understandable. It's your life choice, and to be honest most vegetarians aren't as healthy as they could be. The human body needs the proteins and amino acids in meat to function properly. Even taking vitamins doesn't replace all of them," he replied as Alix turned and reached up in a new-looking cabinet. They looked rather simple—cherry wood rectangles—until you checked out the doors. The centers had been cut out and replaced with sheets of tin, probably secured on the inside, and on each one was a pattern where holes had been punched in the tin to form fleur-dis-lis.

There were strange little details like that all over the apartment and Spencer bet that like her bedroom, Alix had probably designed the cabinets herself. She was either very bored or very energetic.

Alix pulled two large square plates from a shelf in the cabinet. One was red, the other was purple. He also saw black and blue dishes in there, though they all appeared to be in the same style. "I thought maybe we could eat while we watch a movie?" she suggested as she turned with a smile and handed Spencer the red plate and some silverware.

"Yes," he agreed with a quick answering grin, "That sounds good."

"Good," she said. Then at the same time they both wrinkled their noses.

"What is that?" Spencer asked, "Smells like…"

"Burning!" Alix finished. She quickly set her plate down on the counter and grabbed the hot pads. "Crap," she fumed, wrenching open the oven door, "I totally forgot that I was making garlic bread." With her hands safely covered, she pulled out a cookie sheet with a few black slabs on it that may have once been garlic toast. Sighing, she dumped the contents of the pan into the right side of the double basin sink. The pan was placed next to it and the hot pads were tossed off with a sheepish look.

Ruffling her hair, Alix chuckled, "Now you know why I don't cook that often. Don't ever expect me to bake. Once I put something in the oven, I have a tendency to forget that it exists."

Laughing, Spencer leaned down and kissed Alix's slightly flushed cheek. "It's okay, I'm pretty sure that I am equally absent-minded. Besides, this is plenty. Thank you for cooking." His voice was low, an intimate whisper there in the open kitchen.

"Hmm," Alix swayed forwards, looking flustered still, and stole a quick kiss on the lips while Spencer was still in her personal space. "You're welcome," she said with a soft smile as she pulled away. They were both smiling to themselves as they put food on their plates and Alix pulled out two individual bowls with salad in them from the fridge. She set a few bottles of dressing on the counter and stated, "Pick your poison." Reid grabbed the blue cheese. Alix went for the balsamic vinaigrette and then put everything away again.

"What would you like to drink?" she asked with her head still in the refrigerator, "I have generic cola and generic Sprite, 2-percent milk, limeade, and a couple bottles of beer."

"Coke is fine," Spencer replied and took the can that Alix handed him, grabbing a can of Lemon-Lime for herself.

They walked into the living room together and Spencer sat on the blood red sofa, placing his soda on a coaster laying abandoned on the mosaic-topped coffee table. Alix discarded her food and drink on the coffee table and went over to the entertainment center, crouching down in front of it. "What are you in the mood for? I've got action, drama, sci-fi, horror, cartoons, et cetera, et cetera."

Sliding his plate onto the coffee table as well, Spencer met Alix over by the television where she was huddled, examining the titles on her DVDs. As he walked, he swiftly unbuttoned his sport coat and draped it over his arm. "What happened to eco-friendly fairies?" he asked gently and Alix looked up at him, a little startled. Then she grinned. "I was mostly kidding," she said, "But if you want to watch FernGully, that's alright with me." A quick motion and she tugged it free of the other boxes, and slid it into the DVD player while Spencer walked back to the couch and his food, draping his blazer over the back of the blood red couch with its black and white zebra-striped pillows.

Alix joined him a moment later with a remote in her hand, wiggling down between the couch and the coffee table to sit on the floor next to Spencer's legs. The movie started and it only took Spencer ten minutes to figure out he'd rather be on the floor too than stranded up on the couch by himself. It took a little more maneuvering since he was taller than Alix, but eventually he too was seated cross-legged on the plush area rug with the coffee table over his legs.

Thirty minutes in Alix unfolded her legs under the table. One of her bare feet brushed against his own sock-clad foot and stayed there. Spencer glanced at her sidelong, smirking as best he could with his mouth full of chicken. Alix was still facing the television, working on the last of her noodles, but if the little self-satisfied grin she wore was any indication, then she knew what she was doing and was doing it quite deliberately.

Ten minutes after, she pushed her dishes away and leaned back with a little sigh, and drew her foot up along his calf. Another minute after that, Spencer was done eating as well and he entwined his fingers with hers. "Thanks for dinner," he said, squeezing them slightly. Alix squeezed back, stating, "Again, you're welcome. Thanks for calling."

On screen, Crysta was entering the final battle against Hexxus when Spencer turned slightly and let his fingertips flutter down the side of Alix's jaw. She turned her head, cocking an eyebrow, and he caught her lips with his in a kiss laden with warm intent. Her lips parted a little, pushing back against his, and the warmth became a spark as the tips of their tongues touched. There was nothing quite like some good food and a mindless movie to help turn your brain off, and the company was stimulating. He was finally relaxed enough to do something other than analyze and calculate. That was his biggest problem: he got into work mode where he was constantly thinking and then couldn't shut it off even after he'd clocked out.

But Alix was running her fingers over the back of his hand, her fingertips lightly tracing the delicate bones and ligaments, finding the slight hollow where his hand and wrist connected. The caress there made him shiver, made white-hot lust trickle into his groin. He'd never realized that his hands could be such an erogenous zone for him. Involuntarily, a low, needy sound spilled from his mouth into hers.

With an answering 'mmm,' like she'd just eaten something delicious, Alix deepened the kiss. Her tongue slid against his in a sinuous movement and they twined around one another, pushing and pulling until Spencer surrendered to her and let himself be kissed. She explored thoroughly, letting her slick appendage run over teeth and gently taste the inside of his cheeks. As she pulled out, Alix licked the roof of his mouth and he groaned, his hand tightening its grip on the fabric of her black tunic top.

Spencer caught his breath fast and then tugged her mouth back to his for more, taking control of the kiss that time so he could do the same to her. A slight pull and shove, and somehow they were laying on the floor wedged between the couch and the table. Alix was underneath him and he was right where he really wanted to be, in between those toned, slender thighs. Her leg wrapped around his waist and the other made a sharp upside-down vee as she placed her foot flat on the floor.

The young profiler was propped up on one arm, still fucking—here he didn't mince words, he knew enough to acknowledge why he was doing what he was doing—Alix's mouth with his tongue in a pale imitation of what he was working towards. Her hips rotated against him as she let go a hungry moan, and he thrust into the motion automatically. Fingers were popping open the buttons on his vest and he obligingly reared up to shuck the garment, whipping his tie off at the same time.

Alix looked flushed a little rumpled on the floor, her mouth swollen and slick with saliva, but she didn't seem to mind. Instead she just pulled up her shirt, revealing a lacy black bra that her breasts looked like they were about to spill out of any second. With a groan that sounded like it was pulled forcefully right out of his lungs, Spencer bent back down and nuzzled that pale, lightly scented flesh with his nose. She smelled like something soft and feminine underneath the scent of fabric softener that permeated her clothing. His nose between her breasts, he turned his head to the side slightly and lapped at the pale curve of her upper breast peeking over the lace cups. Maybe it was jasmine. He'd have to ask. However, that was just her perfume. Underneath that was something earthy and tangy, something that made his mouth water.

He bit her lightly on the top curve of her rounded globe, recalling how she'd used her nails and teeth on him before. Back arching, Alix cried out and her hands stuttered where she'd been dancing down the line of his button up shirt, pushing the little disks through their buttonholes. "Spencer," she purred, "Did you bring condoms?"

Tipping his head up, he dragged his chin over her skin. "Yes," he murmured, registering that his voice had dropped lower as his desire rose.

"Where are they?" Alix whispered, raising her eyebrows as well.

"Inside jacket pocket," he told her.

She started wiggling then, her hands pushing at his chest. "Get them and let's reconvene in the bedroom. This isn't exactly the best place to go at it." Her eyebrows waggled suggestively and Spencer backed off with a laugh, offering her a hand up.

Alix accepted and turned off the television while Spencer went to grab the small package of condoms from his discarded sport coat. Then Alix came around the side with a little bounce in her step and took Spencer by the hand, leading her up the little dais and behind the curtains, literally. Almost the entire outside wall was huge industrial windows, and there was a door that almost looked like one of the windows except a little smaller that led to the balcony. He could see a folding chair, the kind that women used to sunbathe in at the beach, a small heavy-looking café table and chairs, and what looked like a small charcoal grill.

Then Alix pulled the tabs that let the rest of the many-shaded violet curtains—which he noticed now were mostly sheer—collapse back down and cover the overly large windows. Looking around, it was a little like being trapped in a genie's bottle. On the only actual interior wall that the room had was a large three-door closet. The bed was a black metal canopy, but instead of hanging drapes around it Alix had weaved a garland of faux flowers, stephanotis maybe, in and out among the upper bars and down the side posts. The little white flowers among their lush, green leaves, and the sumptuous-looking bed linens—the coverlet was white brocade with silvery-gray curlicue patterns on it that looked vaguely French, the sheets were a warm gray that looked all too inviting-gave the room a very romantic feel. It was clearly a woman's room.

"So," Alix padded back to him in nothing but her barely-there bra and those tight leggings, "What did you bring me?" She slid her fingers through his belt loops with a sassy grin, then undid the last few buttons of his shirt.

He held up the package and Alix let out a delighted peal of laughter, like he'd anticipated. "Oh, Spence," she mumbled and rested her forehead on his chest, still chuckling, "You are too funny." Then she was moving him skillfully, shuffling him back step by step until he was right by the bed. His shirt was un-tucked, and then she reached out, carefully undoing the clasp on his watch and setting it down on the trunk at the foot of the bed.

"Shirt off," Alix prompted lightly, so Spencer dropped his dress shirt on the floor at the same time that the mischievous woman ran her hands up his stomach to his chest, taking his undershirt up with the movement. That too was discarded and she rose up on the balls of her feet to nip at his chin and his lips, then slowly went back to her normal height to nibble on his neck and lick over his pulse point.

Then with a light shove, his back hit the mattress and Alix giggled before she climbed up and straddled his hips, kissing him with the smile still on her face. "Hm…" she hummed consideringly against his lips, "I think I like you this way."

"What way?" Spencer choked out as her hips rolled and teased his erection through his trousers. His fingers glided up her spine and grasped either side of the clasp on her bra, pushing the tabs in so that the little eyelet closures popped out. Obligingly, Alix tossed her bra off the bed and let out a breathy sound when Spencer automatically traversed her ribcage and cupped her bared breasts in his hands. "In my bed," Alix sighed as lightly massaged her mounds then shifted just so that he was teasing her areolas and the tips of her little pink nipples.

"Under me is good too," she agreed in a mere whisper as she leaned down, dropping kisses over his jaw and chin, straight down his neck to that place that made his head drop back and his mouth fall open. Open-mouthed kisses with the slightest hint of suction were laden across his neck, his adam's apple was thoroughly licked in a thick, wet circle, and then Alix continued, "But mostly I just like having you in my bed. Especially with your extra safe condoms."

Reid laughed nervously, but the sound was abruptly choked off when Alix continued to pave her way down his chest. She kissed down his sternum and to the right, swirling his flat, dusky nipple in her mouth, making it peak as he squirmed at the sensation. It was good, sending a thread of that shivery warmth down in his stomach all the way to his toes. Then she did the same with the other one and lightly nipped it, and Spencer released a shuddering exhalation.

With his arms curving up around her back, Spencer tightened his grip and rolled them both over until Alix was beneath him. But he didn't stay that way. He wanted to see her and touch her, so he moved slightly and settled down right next to her, mostly on his side. She curved towards him, around him, one leg hitching up over his hip, drawing their lower bodies together.

Spencer ran the tip of his finger over her hardened nipple in teasing circles and slanted his mouth over Alix's again, catching her hitched breaths with his tongue and coaxing her lips into a kind of complicated dance. They weren't moving as fast as they had that first time together, nor even earlier on Alix's living room rug, but there was a different kind of intensity present in their newfound languorous lovemaking. It was there in every touch, the promise of great pleasure resulting in the kind of climax that can only come from a slow, steady build.

Her hands were running over his stomach, tracing the lines of his lean muscle definition, and teasing the skin just where his trousers stopped. Then down further, sneaking underneath her own leg and finding his, her curious fingers explored his clothed erection until he was making low, involuntarily noises into the dark cavern created by their conjoined lips. The button popped on his slacks and Spencer jerked in surprise and eagerness as the zipper came down. His free hand tightened where it had gripped Alix's curved waist.

Alix broke the kiss with a little gasp and shifted, removing her leg from on top of him. He found out why a second later when, her lips curling upward in a mischievous smirk, she slid her hand inside his pants and gripped him over his boxers, massaging until, with a groan, Spencer lurched up and forced her onto her back where she settled with a little giggle.

"Jeez, Spence, all you had to do was ask," Alix purred, but Spencer was beyond answering. There was a hum in his blood, a throbbing in his groin, and he really, really didn't want to think anymore. He wanted to kiss this woman and thrust inside her until logic and reason shattered under the onslaught of ecstasy. Thinking of that maybe not-so-honorable, but definitely exciting goal, he caught his fingers in the waistband of her leggings and felt lace as well. He almost took both layers at once and then decided not to. He wanted to see the lacy underwear that went with the now-discarded bra, wanted the image of her—pale and perfect against those dove-gray sheets wearing nothing but a pair of underwear—stored inside his head forever.

The magenta leggings were flung somewhere over his shoulder and Spencer reared up, stepping off the bed long enough to shuck his pants, socks, and underwear. He stood there nude and devoured the sight of Alix—who was surprisingly muscular for a petite woman, and looked delectable lying there with her hair mussed, lips and nipples reddened. The underwear matched the bra in that they were both lacy and showed more than they covered. Alix cupped her tits, rolled her nipples between her thumbs and index fingers, biting her lip as her thighs rubbed against each other, subconsciously trying to ease the ache between her legs. He watched her watch him wrap his fingers around his length and stroke himself slowly from root to tip.

It was like they were caught like that for a moment, watching and wanting, but tormenting themselves to prolong the pleasure. Almost like they were waiting to see who would break first. In the end, it was Alix who made a noise of frustration and whimpered, "Spencer." That was it, just his name, but he understood immediately what it meant, what she wanted. He grabbed a condom off the trunk and slid back onto the bed, pushing the silk duvet down towards the end of the bed as he did so.

Alix grasped him, one hand behind his head, tangling in his curls, the other wrapping around his cock. With her grip on that most delicate part of him, she maneuvered him nearly on top of her and she arched up to take his lips again. He almost dropped the little foil-wrapped package in his haste to respond. She was running her fingers up his shaft in torturous patterns, stroking and rubbing, mapping out the different veins and textures until Spencer grabbed her hand, halting those ministrations, because he was sure he'd come if she didn't stop and he so desperately wanted to come inside of her, feeling her body contracting around him.

He bit her lips as he pulled away and ripped open the condom package with clumsy, eager hands, smoothed it on his erection. Then he was between her thighs and he hesitated for a moment, finally noticing that Alix still had her underwear on. Inspiration struck as he grabbed the lacy crotch, pausing a moment to tease her slit through the fabric, and then yanked it to the side. Using his other hand to hold himself at the proper angle, Spencer slid into her, fighting his way through that initial tightness until he'd gone as far as he could. Alix arched her back and raised her hips, assisting the process.

She held her legs bent and as wide as she could, the ligaments connecting her groin and legs straining as he half-crouched over her resting mostly on his knees, artist's hands helping to hold her open to him. Then Spencer pulled out and forced his way back in, and it was so perfect that the effort to hold her position now seemed minimal at best. Totally worth the way it gave him that little extra inch to tunnel deeper inside of her. He fucked her with slow, forceful motions that spilled little sounds of pleasure out of her mouth as his brow furrowed in concentration to keep a steady rhythm.

Except, of course, all his effort was for naught because Alix planted her feet on the mattress for leverage and thrust back, picking up the tempo until Spencer was mindlessly pounding his way into her, low grunts falling out of his lips as his scrotum smacked against her. He fell forwards, propping his body up with his hands on the sheets on either side of her torso. It changed the angle of him inside of her slightly so that he was passing over that spot which built up that warm weight inside of her 'til she felt like a dam about to burst.

Alix grabbed his ass to feel the muscles flexing as he drove into her, drove her out of her mind and his, as her pelvis worked in tandem with the rhythm that Spencer set forth. The lace of her underwear rubbing up against her sensitive outer lip and the side of his condom-coated dick was just one more tease, one extra sensation working to push them both over the edge. Finally, when Spencer's thrusts became erratic and his breathing changed, Alix let herself reach down between them for her clitoris. The lace got in the way, but she didn't care, she just rubbed herself through the fabric. The roughness against her swollen bundle of nerves was exquisite as it moistened and dragged over her.

Finally her back rounded as she came with a cry, muscles alternating between stiffening up and shaking all over. Her nails dug into the tender skin of his cute little ass. The waves of rapture seemed to gone on much longer than they actually did. Alix felt Spencer's presence inside of her as her passage spasmed and it made her cry out as a smaller orgasm overtook her. Spencer lost it at the extra stimulation and drove himself into her a final time, setting his teeth into the side of her breast without conscious volition as he rode out his climax.

When it was all over and the tremors had subsided, Spencer lapped at the mark his teeth had made, eyelids heavy with lassitude. Alix's arms cradled him where he'd collapsed against her. "Holy crap," he breathed when he could think enough to speak.

"Yep," she agreed with laughter in her voice.

"Mmm," he hummed as he shifted enough to pull out with a soft, wet suction sound. Alix chuckled, shifted slightly, and then stated, "I'll be right back." He twitched as she touched his softening member and then realized that she was taking the condom off of him.

"Thanks," Spencer murmured, smiling gratefully as he snuggled deeper into the soft sheets.

Alix grinned back and stated, "No problem, sweet-cheeks." Then he watched her bounce out of the room still wearing her panties, the sheers shifting as she flung them apart and bounded down the few stairs. He could see the vague silhouette of her as she walked over to the bathroom. The faucet ran for a second, then Alix came striding back sans underwear and holding a damp washcloth.

Spencer accepted the thoughtful offering as she climbed back into bed and cleaned himself up a bit. "Where…?" he began to ask, but Alix just reached over and grabbed the soiled cloth, whipping it halfway across the room where it landed with a wet smack on the bare wooden floor, effectively making his question redundant. She grinned, shrugged, and pulled up the covers from the foot of the bed.

Wrapping his arm around her as she settled down next to him, Spencer wasn't surprised when she asked, "So, good first date? Yea or nay?" There was a tease underneath her innocent words, but Spencer couldn't bring himself to rise to the bait, suddenly too exhausted to function.

"Yea," he responded honestly, kissing her shoulder, "Definite yea."

Alix chuckled and ran her fingers through his hair, and Spencer made a sound of deep contentment, his eyes giving up the fight as they closed.

"It's nice to see you relax," Alix murmured as he slipped away.

"Nice to be relaxed," he thought he said, but couldn't really say if he had or not. That was the last thing he recalled until early the next day when he woke to the sound of the radio in the kitchen and Alix singing along to Metallica's "Enter Sandman" and doing a fairly passable imitation of James Hetfield. He snorted and started laughing, and realized that for the first time in a week he hadn't woken up with a headache.

* * *

-FIN-


	3. Curious

Spencer Reid Gets…

**Curious**

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: Reid/OFC

Rating: T

Warnings: stupid boy antics, drug references

Archive: Ask

Author: Lily Zen

* * *

Notes: Another ficlet in the increasingly ambitious SRG series. This time Spencer finds himself asking some questions about Alix, since she's not so up front about herself, but goes about it in a very Reid-like fashion. What a stupid boy.

A first in the SRG series, this will be written in the first person point of view. Reid is the narrator.

Disclaimer: Criminal Minds does not belong to me. Alix does.

* * *

I knew that Alix and I hadn't been dating for a very long time, not in the grand scheme of things, and when I tried to casually discuss it with Hotch, whom I assumed would be as close to an expert on the subject as I could find on such short notice, he assured me that two months was no time at all and that I should stop worrying about it…

But I couldn't.

It frustrated me that I knew so little about Alix.

She was not the most forthcoming person I had encountered. In fact, she had a distinct aversion to discussing her history or her internal thoughts. It was disconcerting and intriguing all at the same time. Disconcerting because it made me think she had something to hide, which is not usually a desirable attribute in a mate, as evidenced by the amount of cases in which spouses had no idea that their significant other was a criminal. Ironically, it was intriguing to me for the exact same reason.

Over the course of the last two months, I had begun to discover that there were two Spencer Reids. Not literally, of course—metaphorically. One was Spencer Reid, the doctor, the genius, the intellectual, analytical part of me. The other was Spencer Reid, the budding romantic, who made Jiffy-Pop with a Bunsen burner (don't ask) and played Trouble with his adorably tipsy girlfriend (and lost—again, don't ask, mostly because I'm still not sure how that happened), and promptly distracted her from gloating with smooches. They were two very different sides to the same person and sometimes they competed for dominance in Alix's presence.

I took some time to analyze why that could be, and I'm pretty sure that it's because emotional vulnerability is a rarity for me and reverting back to intellectualism is a defense mechanism. Of course, I can't be positive as I am clearly biased in this case…

* * *

So there we were, sitting on Alix's couch together. My legs were stretched out and she was sitting between them with her back to my chest and we were watching Nosferatu. I had tried to start a conversation with her, but she had begged off on any serious topics. Unless it was about real butter versus butter-flavored season salt on popcorn, she didn't want to talk about it.

Normally that wasn't the case. Alix and I had great conversations about anything and everything. She always kept up with me and the few times that I started to ramble on about something that Alix didn't have any knowledge of, she hadn't hesitated to ask and had even waited patiently for the answers. Not even my co-workers did that. Oh, sometimes they asked, but more often than not they ended up cutting off my explanations.

It was late at night and Alix was exhausted, more so than usual, so I let it drop. I rested behind her on the blood red sofa with my chin resting on top of her sleek auburn hair, put my arms around her, and let her work through whatever it was that was bothering her.

She had just come off of an eight day deep cover operation, so I hadn't seen her in all that time. Like was becoming habit for the both of us, she called me when her case closed and I came over. Sometimes we met at my apartment, other times at hers, though I noticed we tended to spend more time at her place than mine. I felt comfortable there. Throughout the place there was an aura of home and it was lived in. Alix put a lot of thought and effort into making her apartment into an environment that reflected her personality. It was bright and dark, alternately brash and jarring to the senses paired conversely with the soft and feminine. I liked to pull random tomes off the shelves and lose myself in the pages. The last time I'd been there, I had read a popular science-fiction novel, a book of T.S. Eliot poems, and a collection of essays. There was always something new to explore. Some days I arrived to find Alix poring over whatever new creative project she'd thought up to keep herself occupied. Other days they were already done and I could gaze my fill of them before the majority of them mysteriously disappeared. Alix told me that she had a little rented stall at a craft shop where she sold most of her pieces.

That night there were deep circles under her eyes and no projects in progress. In fact, she was distinctly listless. I wanted to ask her about the case, why she obviously hadn't been sleeping well. I knew that I couldn't though.

I hated it when Alix came back from some of her undercover assignments. The longer she was under, the more time it took for her to come back from it. She seemed to immerse herself so fully into her characters that sometimes even when she came home it took awhile until her habits went back to normal.

On impulse, I pressed my lips to her temple and she sighed. Her fingers squeezed my hand.

I decided then that I might have to be a little more underhanded if I was going to find out how to care for Alix when she came home in these funks.

* * *

Oh, yes, so my lack of knowledge about Alix was bothering me. A lot, as you can tell by the distinct focus of this narrative. After I thought about it for awhile, I decided that the best person to approach would be Garcia. I wasn't sure just how well she and Alix were acquainted—they both volunteered with the same after-school organization, that I knew, but Garcia was good with people and perceptive to boot. One very average work day, I took my lunch into her work space, making sure to keep a certain amount of distance from the computer equipment. She tended to get a little touchy about food in her workspace, but only when it was due to other people. Garcia often ate at her computers, particularly if she was working on some pressing matter. The analyst claimed she never made a mess at her desk.

I didn't want her to get upset with me as I needed her cooperation, so I stayed away from her towers and monitors.

"What's up, honey?" Garcia asked me as she spun in her chair, holding some kind of sandwich.

"May I have a seat?" I asked nodding to indicate the vacant chair pushed off to the side.

She grinned and nodded, her reddish curls bouncing with the movement. "Go ahead." Her bejeweled fingers waved towards the chair in invitation. "So what's going on?" she asked after I'd sat down and remained silent for a bit.

"What makes you think anything's going on?" I squeaked. Yes, I'm ashamed to say it, but my voice rose guiltily. I may have even flushed a bit on my face. Not that I'm admitting it.

But Garcia just sniggered and said, "Well, sweetie, you're in my lair in the middle of the day and not asking me to look up something for you yet. Usually when you come in here, Reid, it's because you need something for a case. Logic, my dear boy."

"Oh," I replied, "Well, I, ah, I do, um…that is to say, I do need something. A favor, maybe, if you're so inclined." Do I really need to say that I wasn't exactly at my most eloquent at the moment? To be honest, I was feeling quite a bit awkward about what I was about to ask Garcia. The two Reids were arguing internally again. Not literally, again. I'm not crazy. Not yet, anyway.

At that, the redheaded analyst spun in her chair and faced me head on, still with a smile. It was a rarity to find Penelope without a smile, actually; something that made the job, with all the horrors we see, a little easier to bear. "Name it."

"Well…what do you know about Alix?"

Garcia looked at me blankly and then shrugged her shoulders. "Alix, your girlfriend, Alix? Which, by the way, cutie, congratulations. I don't think you could have found a better match in the Bureau." I found myself ducking my head as an embarrassed, but pleased smile stole across my face without having even asked my permission first. I was going to thank her, but Penelope railroaded over me like she tend to does to people when she gets excited about something. "I don't really know Alix very well. We see each other down at the community center when AGGA meets sometimes. I didn't even know she worked for the Bureau until like, three months after I met her. She's kind of tight-lipped, y'know? She's like, super smart. Not like you. You're all facts and figures and super rockingly educated. Alix just…knows a lot about stuff she picked up here and there. Most of her kids are focused in science because that's one of her areas where she knows a lot more than others. Um…she likes to dye her hair and prefers Converse over Adidas? And she likes Nutella and cherry preserve sandwiches because she thinks they taste like chocolate-covered cherries."

Pausing, Garcia chuckled and then asked, "What's with the sudden Q&A about your girl, Reid? Are you two…having problems?" One penciled eyebrow raised up.

I was quick to reassure her, waving a hand dismissively as I hurriedly blurted out, "No, no. I'm just curious."

Again, Penelope was quick to say, "Well, don't you think these are the kind of questions you should ask her?"

Of course she had to bring up that little gem. I knew that I should just go ask Alix, but I didn't want to badger her so soon after a difficult case and I wasn't looking forward to having Alix put the whammy on me again. Oh, she wasn't actually hypnotizing me, I know; she was just doing some sort of mental gymnastics in order to avoid talking about certain things. Which I suppose I could understand. We all have things we'd rather forget. But I didn't even know how old my girlfriend was; that was ridiculous.

"I would," I finally began, my voice hesitating, "But you see, Alix has this tendency to…spin me about until I don't know which way is up, until I forget what it was I wanted to say. I was just hoping to get a little bit of a leg up the next time."

"Hm," Garcia murmured with a bite of food in her mouth. She finished chewing and swallowed. "So what would you like me to do? I probably know less than you do."

And here I paused, suddenly apprehensive.

"Just spit it out, Reid," our resident redhead and techie stated.

"Can you get me into her file with the Bureau?" I blurted out before I could lose my nerve. I was so tense that I hadn't even started eating. I was just clutching the bag in my hands like a security blanket.

Garcia didn't say anything, just stared at me silently.

Finally, she blinked. "You want me to hack the Bureau personnel files?"

Shrugging sheepishly, I said in a small voice, "If you can."

Another pregnant pause filled the space between us, then she shook her head. "You realize if Alix finds out you did this, you are in super big trouble, right?"

I was quick to reassure her, appearing much more confident than I actually felt as I said, "She won't find out." I could see the moment that Garcia gave in. Her shoulders slumped a little, then straightened.

"I'll have to do it from my private system. This should be a good exercise for me." The hacker grinned wickedly.

* * *

A week later, I was sitting in my apartment holding a cheap, red two-pocket folder in my hands. Garcia had come through and the papers holding the information I'd sought were within reach.

Yet I hesitated, caught between curiosity and the second Spencer Reid screaming at me that this was the worst idea I'd ever had.

Right now, I was still at a point where I could turn back. I could put the papers through the shredder and pretend that nothing had happened.

There was a knock at the door. I tossed the folder onto my desk and stood up to answer it, grabbing my gun on the way. I wasn't expecting anyone, so it was natural that I'd be a little paranoid. But at the peephole, I slid the weapon back into its holster and opened the door with a smile.

"Hey," I said, "It's late. Shouldn't you already be asleep?"

Alix snorted and strode into the room. In one arm, she had a paper bag with the most delicious smells wafting out of it, and she set it down on the counter. That night she was wearing all black from her combat boots, to her jeans, to her black leather bomber jacket. A line in the clothing told me she was armed, but that wasn't unusual. Alix was almost always armed. Her hair was different. It had been brown with coppery-red in it. Now it was the color of cherry varnish and her make-up looked different. I couldn't begin to explain how. Something about the thickness of her eyeliner, the color of the eye shadow (gold, sparkling, thick-looking). Her eyelashes looked longer and thicker than usual too. Crazy long. Fake? The color on her cheeks was wrong too. Normally Alix wore little make-up, if any. This was almost a clown-face for her.

"Couldn't sleep. Work ran late," she stated, her voice a little clipped.

I gave her a look full of questions and she seemed to ease up, slumping against the counter. She closed her eyes and breathed deep, then when she opened them there was more…Alix in her eyes. If that makes sense. She smiled at me then and said, "Sorry I didn't call first. It kind of slipped my mind."

"That's okay," I replied, shutting and re-locking the door.

"I brought Thai," Alix flicked her fingers at the paper bag of take-out.

Stepping into the kitchen, I got plates out of the cabinets. Alix unzipped her jacket and placed it on the back of the armchair, like she always did when she came over. Her t-shirt was black as well, the shoulder holster blending in with it. I knew that Alix had a 9mm that she kept locked up in her apartment and that her preferred handgun while working was a .40 Smith & Wesson, but I had never seen her carry so openly before.

Then again, I didn't usually see her right after work. Not while she was still shaking off the personality of some other woman.

"Do you mind if I go wash my face?"

"No, of course not," I said quickly, "You know where the wash cloths are."

Smiling weakly, Alix murmured, "thanks," and disappeared down the short hallway.

A few minutes later, she reemerged, swiped the plate I had left for her off the counter, and came to join me on the couch looking more like herself. Kissing my cheek, Alix murmured another quiet hello and tucked into her food.

"I spent seven hours today pretending to be from Estonia," Alix grumped abruptly, "And another three doing surveillance with Wilson and Farmer."

Looking up from my food, I said, "Sounds…tiring."

"It was," she agreed, "But then I just needed something normal. Y'know, to detox? So I came here not realizing how late it was. I'm sorry."

"It's okay. Really," I hurried to reassure her, "You're welcome any time."

"Cool," Alix murmured, leaning her head against my shoulder. She rolled her head back, glancing up at me. "I hate this case. It's tough for me because a lot of the people I'm running into remind me of my dad. I told you that he wasn't very supportive, but that's kind of an understatement."

Sitting up again, she took a bite of chicken satay, chewed thoughtfully and swallowed. "He was kind of an asshole, really. Drank a lot. Thought women should be barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen. My mom married him when she was really young; some sort of whirlwind make-my-daddy-angry romance, I guess. He made her miserable, and eventually she left him…and us. Spent my college fund from my grandparents on useless shit."

"That's very sad," I murmured sympathetically, trying not to look like I was waiting on the edge of my seat for more details about the wonderful woman that had picked me out of a bar and sucked me into her life like a whirlpool in the sea.

Alix snorted. "I guess. Spencer, I …you know I'm really not that good a person. After my mom left, I was pretty much on my own and I did a lot of stuff that I probably shouldn't have. I was pretty, um, lost after I found out that she'd pissed away my money, and angry because she got to split and just fucking left me there to deal with my dad's drunk rages and blackouts. I don't like to talk about that time in my life, because frankly it fucking sucked the first time around. Verbally rehashing it doesn't make it suck any less. But I know you're curious and I guess you deserve to know if this is going to go anywhere. Before my mom left, I was a four-point-oh student. It was effortless for me. After, my grades dipped because I just didn't care anymore. I started hanging out with this older guy that all the kids in school bought their drugs from. I moved into his place and started…started cooking for him. Chemistry is one of those areas I always excelled. I was careful, I never got busted, and the Bureau has no idea. If they did, I wouldn't have a job anymore."

Licking my lips, I offered quietly, "I was hooked on Dilaudid. Not quite the same thing, I know, but…that's about as dark as my secrets get, unless you count my mother being schizophrenic."

Glancing over, I saw Alix's lips quirk. She said, "Man, look at us. Couple of kids with sordid pasts." Her voice was dry and I knew that she was trying to lighten the moment, so I went with it and let myself laugh. Her dry chuckle was reward enough.

Quietly, I asked her, "So what happened after? Clearly, you stopped doing that."

Shrugging, my girlfriend told me, "People were getting arrested. I knew it was only a matter of time before somebody who actually knew something squealed. So one day I woke up and went down to the army recruitment center. I got out just in time, I guess, because I heard that the guy I was working with got picked up a few months after that. The army was probably what really changed me. I got a stability there that I hadn't had before. People expected me to do well. Nobody had ever expected anything out of me before, so it was a different feeling for me. I did really well there and I took classes in my spare time. I ended up getting a degree in criminal justice, which is incredibly ironic. When my contract was up, I decided that I wanted to get out of the service. My CO, I guess, was pimping me out to some of his agency contacts, and I ended up getting into the F.B.I. That's…pretty much it."

Neither one of us was really eating anything at that point. I was too caught up in the story, and it seemed like Alix was too. Putting my plate down, I scooted closer to her on the couch and wrapped my arm around her shoulders. She leaned into me with a little exhale of relief.

"I put my mom in a sanitarium when I was eighteen," I confessed into her hair, "It was the hardest thing I've ever had to do, but I couldn't take care of her any more. She wouldn't listen to me about taking her medication. Plus, I had gotten into Cal-Tech, which was my dream school, and I couldn't…sacrifice that. Things had reached a point where I needed to make a choice: give up my dreams and goals, and take care of my mom, or get her the care she needed elsewhere, and live my life. I knew that if my mom were lucid, she'd tell me to go. So that's what I did. But it still hurt and I felt guilty for a long time after that. I still do sometimes."

Leaning forwards, Alix slid her plate onto the table as well, then fell back into the embrace. She looped her arms around my waist and gave a little squeeze to my middle. "That was a sucky situation, but you did the best you could," she said succinctly and kissed my chin.

"You too," I responded and kissed her temple.

Alix ended up spending the night at my place, and after she left early the next morning I put the contents of the red folder through the shredder. I didn't need it. Alix, using some strange sixth sense, had somehow responded to my need to know her better and opened up. I appreciated the trust she had shown me, and out of respect for that I pretended that I'd never gone to Garcia in the first place.

(Of course, I found out a few months later that Garcia—or Nell, as Alix called her—had told Alix about my request. When Alix mistakenly let it slip, she was laughing and half-drunk, and called me ridiculously cute and stupid. 'Like all guys are,' Alix cackled.)

* * *

-FIN-


	4. Visceral

Spencer Reid Gets…

**Visceral**

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: Reid/Alix

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: biting, dominance and submission

Archive: Ask

Author: Lily Zen

* * *

Notes: A short drabble about the, um, kinkier sides of Alix and Reid's sex life. Not graphic, but there's definitely some grown-up concepts mentioned in here.

Disclaimer: Not mine.

* * *

His hands trailed down her skin in awe.

It was porcelain, alabaster, ivory…

Poetic terms that could mean anything in the literary world.

Really it was white with just a hint of yellow and pink in it, like the inside of a seashell. Her blue veins sometimes created highlights where they lay close to the surface.

He liked to trace them, their pathways like tiny rivers underneath her oh-so-soft flesh. Sometimes he did it with his fingertips, other times with his tongue. She never seemed to mind, only smiled and let herself go limp and patient against the mattress, indulging his whimsy with the good humor of a woman who adored having the attention paid to her.

Sometimes she would giggle, especially if he got too close to the inside of her elbows. Her skin was sensitive there as it was hardly ever touched. He liked that thought, that there were parts of her still virginal though he knew that he wasn't her first.

He was never rough with her, not unless she asked him to be. On occasion it seemed that she craved it, needed the sharper side of love like a knife's edge against her. There was a fine line between the tease of cool metal on warm skin and drawing delicate red lines of blood, and it all depending on the control of the person wielding the weapon. After a time, he was able to admit to himself that on occasion, he needed to be rough with her too, to assert himself over her in a way that was primal and certainly alpha male behavior. She surrendered to him and it put him in a position of power and control; trust and esteem.

Wholly intoxicating to have a woman such as her, a woman so fiery and independent, at his mercy.

It was the first time that any woman had ever asked him to do such a thing, to own her, to press his love into her delicate, pearlescent veneer like a brand. She'd wear them for days, her private joy, and he would watch the bruises and scratches fade with a sense of loss.

He loved to suckle her, to raise marks on her. Sometimes he did so lightly and they were a pinkish-red color that eased quickly back to its normal tone. Other times she would cry out, arching her back, and hold his head with her fingers tangled tightly in his curls, a silent entreaty for him not to stop because it hurt so good and was on the right side of pain-pleasure dichotomy still. He couldn't help but give into her urgings then because somewhere within himself there was an animal who wanted all the other males in the area to know that she belonged to him.

Sadly, humans can't scent mark, not in any way that's noticeable to another human. It subverts the need that still exists in them to mark, to claim, and so that seldom acknowledged part of his nature must find another way to be satisfied.

She stretches in the bed, her fingers feathering lightly over the raised mark on the underside of her breast. It will darken, though it isn't very large. The flesh there is too fragile for much abuse and experience has taught him that it's too quick to cross the line there between the kind of pain that adds to and is absorbed by sexual excitement, and the kind that just fucking hurts.

She turns to him, smiling, and they kiss. His hands cup and caress her tiny waist, absorbed in the luxurious satin feel of her. He smiles against her lips, and she nips his mouth. He can tell that he only has a short time before the tables are turned and it is she with her teeth in his skin, marking him up, making him hers.

-FIN-


	5. An Interlude

Spencer Reid Gets…

**An Interlude**

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: Reid/Alix

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: piercings, references to abuse

Archive: Ask

Author: Lily Zen

* * *

Notes: This is in Alix's POV. Enjoy. This is the edited version. I've added in a little bit towards the bottom because I just remembered that in the first story Alix was wearing her tongue ring. So I've corrected those inconsistencies.

Disclaimer: Not mine.

* * *

There's a hole in my tongue.

There's a hole in my tongue from when I was seventeen years old and my drug-dealing boyfriend at the time convinced me to get it done. I have little holes on other parts of my body from piercings I used to have, but they've all closed up, scarred and gone away. The one in my tongue is the only one that remains aside from the two teeny holes in my earlobes.

I liked that piercing. I kept it in for a long, long time—even in the army I slipped it in every chance I got-but for professionalism's sake I don't wear it to work. It doesn't look right. Even less right than the female F.B.I. agent who comes to work in chuck taylors. There's a limit to how much shit the brass is willing to tolerate from me. I'm a fucking brilliant undercover agent, but that only goes so far.

I don't wear it at home either. Not while Spencer is there. He says that the feel of metal on his skin bothers him. I can only imagine what a tongue ring would do to him.

So I kiss him with a hole in my tongue and suffer with the feeling that I am miss some essential piece of myself.

It doesn't change my speech patterns or anything and nobody knows it's missing except for me, but it still makes me twitch and feel awkward.

Without the bar through it, you can't even tell that it's pierced. Spencer has never said anything about it and he's a trained observer.

You know what I hate?

Bad French kissers. Guys who are all tongue and no technique. 'Let me just stick this in here and wiggle it around; why are you gagging?' I can't stand that. I hate having a tongue jammed down my throat. Listen up, fellas—we don't need you to lick our tonsils. Really.

It's a holdover from the tongue ring, I think.

I can't have super-deep tongue-fucking sessions in my mouth cavity. The bar gets in the way, it gets pulled and tugged and pushed about. That gets uncomfortable when the delicate tissues on the underside of my tongue are about to be ripped apart from the pressure of the ball on the end of it. I've actually woken up the next morning and sworn up and down that there were bruises underneath it.

Don't get me wrong, I love having my tongue ring played with, I just don't want it hoovered right out of my mouth.

* * *

It's late on a Tuesday night and I'm sitting at my kitchen table. The laptop is open on one end, pumping out music, and on the other I am gluing pieces of seashells to an old lamp base I found at a garage sale a few weeks ago. I have a hard time with the concept of inertness. I get bored quickly, which is why I'm always learning or creating or moving. My life is always in a constant state of flux. The only thing I am really good at is my job. There I find center, focus, purpose. The rest of it, this is just to keep me busy.

Not that I don't like Spencer. I do, a lot.

But I'm honest with myself. I don't get an A-plus in the subject of Spencer Reid, not yet. We've been together for a few months, but the amount of actual time we've spent getting to know one another…well, that's more like one month. If Spencer Reid were a degree program at a university, I would still be taking my general requirements.

Anyway, so it's late, and my cell phone starts ringing. I get up to answer it from where I've left it sitting on the counter, charging. First I check the screen, which tells me that it's from Reid's phone. "Hello?" I pick it up and wait for an answer just to be sure.

"Hi." It's his voice, that tenor tone which for some reason always makes me smile. Like now.

"Spencer, hey, what's up?"

"I couldn't sleep," he admits.

"Oh no, not again. You should try taking some Benadryl. Did you take some Benadryl?"

"Um, no. I was just…well, I was driving around, looking for some place to hang out until I got tired, and um, I went past your place and the lights were on. Can I…?"

"Yeah, sure," I tell him immediately, "Are you parked outside? I'll come down and let you in."

"Thanks," he says and the relief in his voice is so evident that I leap for the apartment door, making my way downstairs in record time. I fling open the door to the building and there he is, dark circles under his eyes—darker than usual, clothes disheveled. He's wearing old corduroy pants in khaki. They're worn and soft. I know because I've touched them before this. He also has on a t-shirt—plain, white, probably sold in a three-pack—and a flannel shirt, with his glasses perched on his nose. He could be anybody. No one would ever look at him like this and think 'Fed,' just like they would never look at me and think the same thing. We're both deceptive in our appearances.

"Come on in," I say. He follows me up the stairs like a ghost. A very tired ghost with weights on his ephemeral feet. He kind of shuffles a little instead of actually picking up his feet.

In the apartment I make tea—passionflower, supposedly good for sleep—and doctor Spencer's with a liberal amount of honey. I drink mine as it is, and it's both bitter and fragrant. If I drink and smell at the same time it's almost like being at a wine tasting.

"New project," Spencer notes as we sit at the kitchen table sipping tea together. I nod and then begin to explain it to him, knowing that he likes to hear about my art projects. I think maybe it's because he doesn't do anything like this, and I think maybe if he did he would discover that he's surprisingly good at it. He doesn't see what he does as being creative. Spencer thinks his way of thinking is linear and nothing I say will change that. Except it's not. He thinks in 3-D, I like to joke, and makes these impossible leaps from one thing to another, tying them together in ways that most people can't understand, not without an extensively detailed explanation. It's anything but linear. Maybe to him it is—obvious, logical, a complete 'duh'—but not to normal people. He would be good at art if he found a medium and the motive to be inspired.

My project involves shells and fake pearls—taking the ocean floor and curving it onto this lamp. When he asks me why, I can only shrug. There is never a true why.

'Why?'

"Because I want to."

And then Spencer tilts his head. He's obviously more tired than appears, because his words come out sounding confused and a little rougher than his normal speech. He's usually careful not to swear. His mother told him it was a mark of bad breeding, poor education, low intelligence when he was a little kid, and it's stuck with him. Strangely, it doesn't seem to effect his opinion of me that I drop f-bombs and the like all the time. Maybe he doesn't think I'm smart. I don't know. I've never asked.

Anyway, he queries, "What the hell is that?"

And he's looking at my lips. I wonder if I have glue on my face or something in my teeth, and as I'm running the tip of my tongue over my pearly whites it hits me that I am wearing my tongue ring. Spencer's never seen me wear my tongue ring. He didn't even know I had that pierced. Man, if he knew all the shit I used to have pierced, he would probably shit a brick. Maybe tell me that I was self-mutilating. Who knows?

"It's, ah, it's a tongue ring, Spence." I'm embarrassed. Whether it's at my lack of discretion—letting something like that slip—or at the fact that I have it at all, I don't know. Then I'm embarrassed because I feel like I have to hide things from him, but secrecy has become a habit for me that is very hard to break. Is our relationship real or not? Or is it just based on this false image of who he thinks I am; an image that I perpetuate because it's easier than the truth?

"Why do you have it? Did you just get it?" A thought occurs to him. "Is it fake?"

I laugh. "No, it's not fake. I've always had it; I just don't wear it often." _Mostly when you're around, because I want you to love me and I'm afraid you won't do that if you know who I really am. _I don't tell him that, of course. I do what I always do: tell half the truth and let other people fill in the blanks.

"Huh," Spencer murmurs and I can tell that he's thinking about this, taking this into himself. I'm worried that somehow he's going to internalize this and make it about me not trusting him.

"I didn't tell you because I didn't think it was important." I am turning my mug of tea on the table in circles, like a dog chasing its tail.

"You didn't?" I have aroused Dr. Reid and I can sense that he is collecting these details, organizing them in some mental folder he has on me, analyzing them. For someone who abhors shrinks, I find it highly ironic that I am dating someone who works at the BAU.

"No," I tell him, "It's just a minor physical thing. It's not like it's a part of me. I can take it out and put it back in a million times in a row to no ill effect."

"Is that what you do? Take it out?"

Shit.

"Well, yeah," I shoot back, and I'm aware that I am starting to get defensive. Dammit, this is all going to blow up in my face, isn't it? "You don't like metal, so I take it out. It's no big deal."

Spencer's quiet for a long moment, and so am I.

I'm waiting because I don't know what he's going to do. I expected him to answer me with another question—slippery shrinks, they try and get you to give up your secrets that way, but I'm onto them. And it's not paranoia, dammit, it's a fucking fact. But he surprises me by smiling.

I withdraw because I've learned to be wary of men with mood swings. My father was not a good man. He could just as soon knock me out as he would put me on his knee. Things were easier for my brother, Rob. Mom was still around and she shielded us from the brunt of it. Then he was gone, and she left, and I learned fast. I became whatever my father needed me to be, responded to his moods. Most of the time I was invisible, sometimes I was his silent little elf—cooking and cleaning without complaint, and occasionally I was his audience when he needed to speak. I think it was the foundation for my becoming the chameleon that I am today.

Spencer notices, I can tell he does by the look he gives me, but he doesn't say anything and for that I'm grateful. There are some things you shouldn't have to share with anyone, I think, and this is one of them. He shrugs. "Okay," he says, and that's it. Whatever fight was brewing is dispelled. "Let's go to bed."

"Okay," I agree, and make short work of dumping out the remaining tea, setting the mugs in the sink. I double-check the locks, the alarm, and then I slink into the bedroom. Spencer's shoes are in front of the closet, and he's pulling on his pajamas. I follow his example, pulling off my sweater and jeans, and sliding into satin PJ's cut in little shorts and a tank top. As Spencer is crawling into bed, I reach into my mouth intent on unscrewing the threaded ball and slipping out the bar that spears the slippery muscle there.

"Don't," he says.

I pause and cock an eyebrow.

"Leave it," Spencer adds.

I comply and get underneath the covers. I'm on my side, about to mold myself to my boyfriend and crash, cradling him like a giant stuffed animal, when he turns to face me. He says to me, "We'll never know until we try."

His fingertips lightly trace my jaw and tickle my earlobe, then he's pushing back the long front of my hair. I have one of those Victoria Beckham cuts—long in the front, shorter in the back, but still qualifying as a bob. Spencer touches his lips to mine and it is soft, warm, dry. He always initiates with light, gentle kisses like he's giving me time to change my mind. I run my hands down his stomach, feeling only soft cotton, and then underneath because I don't want to touch his cotton shirt, I want to touch him. He releases a shuddery breath when I reach his skin and map his stomach like I'm blind and reading braille.

It's like that one touch is the match that lights him up and suddenly his lips are slanted over mine, hot and needy. He presses so hard that I have no choice but to open up to him, and I do so with a moan that comes from somewhere deep inside my chest. His tongue slides inside of me, against my tongue. He feels the little ball on top; I know he does because for a second he hesitates. Then I move against him and he's back in the game, and we are twisting, sliding, teasing until we're both breathless with it and he's half-hard against my hip.

I break away, laughing quietly.

I like kissing Spencer. He's not overly invasive. His tongue doesn't suffocate me. He reads my cues and responds accordingly. That may not sound like such a big deal, but believe me, when you've had as many bad kisses as I have it means a lot. "How was it?" I giggle.

Spencer grins. "Not bad. It tastes…like sucking on pennies. The change in texture is…interesting. You know you had it on the first night we met, but after that it disappeared. I didn't think to ask. It was just gone, and that was okay. I assumed it was fake or just part of the role you were playing then. Stupid of me. If it's okay with you, I think it can stay, but we should probably do a little more experimenting with it before we confirm that."

My eyebrows go up. "Experimenting?"

The look I receive in response can only be described as wicked. I might be in for an even later night.

* * *

Silly of me to forget that little detail. I was wearing it the night we met, the night we first hooked up. Granted, I was a little tipsy, but that's no excuse.

I wondered then why I took it out at all. Spencer hadn't taken issue with it then, so why later was I suddenly bending myself to accommodate him?

Insecurity, I guess.

I think maybe that first night together was the most honest I've been with Spencer this whole time. He didn't turn away then. Maybe I should take a little lesson away from that.

But I still laugh every time I remember Spencer saying, 'I assumed it was fake.' Oh, silly boy.

-FIN-


	6. Serious

Spencer Reid Gets…

**Serious**

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: Reid/Alix

Rating: R

Warnings: non-graphic sex, violence

Archive: Ask

Author: Lily Zen

* * *

Notes: I thought maybe it was time for a peek into Alix's life, what she does when she's not with Reid. Then this horrible plot bunny came and took over, and became this monstrous fic. It's angsty, whumpy, violent, suspenseful, et cetera. I hope you like it.

Disclaimer: Not mine.

* * *

He woke early in the morning to a strange, hushed silence that left the air feeling pregnant with want of noise. The balcony door was cracked open as it was unseasonably warm outside, stirring the violet curtains and leaving the apartment smelling of fresh air and springtime. Alix wasn't in the bed.

It didn't seem to matter how early he got up or how much Alix protested that she was not a morning person, she was almost always awake before he was.

She had a pretty stringent morning routine and not even the addition of Spencer in her bed was enough to entice her into forgoing it. First she'd creep out of bed and pull on suitable clothes for exercising, socks, and her running shoes, then Alix grabbed her mp3 player and jogged for a few miles. When she got home it was Tai Chi and meditation time, and following that she'd shower and make breakfast. Spencer had, at times, interrupted various parts of these morning rituals; all of them, that is, except for this one.

Spencer slipped out from between the sheets, and pulled on the pajama pants and t-shirt that had come with him one night quite a few weeks ago and hadn't left since, despite the fact that Alix had washed them several times. There were some of his shirts and ties in the closet, and a few pairs of pants too. The same thing had happened over at his apartment: some of Alix's things undergoing a migration into his world so as to make her staying there a little easier. He ran his hands through his wavy hair, trying to get it into some semblance of order, knowing the battle was futile even as it was fought. His hair never did what he wanted it to and over the years he'd just learned it was easier to let it do whatever it was going to do that particular day and time.

Walking as quietly as he could, Spencer parted the violet sheers and stepped down from the raised platform that Alix had made into her bedroom, only to stop short as his eyes alighted on Alix. She was sitting in the lotus position—legs crossed, feet folded up onto her thighs so that her weight rested on her knees; spine straight but relaxed, absorbing the strain of the position—with her hands loosely folded in her lap on the edge of the living room rug. Her eyes were closed and in the weak morning light, Spencer could see the evidence of cooling sweat on her person. Aside from that, she looked peaceful. It was incredibly rare to see Alix lacking in energy or so still. Sometimes when he had trouble sleeping he watched Alix in repose but even then she was often restless, her facial muscles twitching in response to whatever she dreamt.

Not like this. Her stillness was absolute, her concentration so intent that she did not stir when Spencer tip-toed into the bathroom and closed the door. When he reemerged, she was the exact same way, so he decided to make something for breakfast. It was when the french toast was frying that Alix finally moved, placing her hands on the ground in front of her and uncurling her legs. Rolling her weight forward and with a little pop, Alix pushed herself into a hand-stand and after a moment, let her legs split horizontally. Then with excruciating slowness and a deliberate shift in balance, she raised up one arm and held her entire body weight on that one hand. After a moment, she returned the first to its original position and repeated the exercise with the opposite hand.

It took a lot of strength and control to do something like that, Spencer recognized. They were two things he'd never really associated with Alix before. In fact, if he was honest, he kind of had this mental picture of her as something like the Aurora Borealis: bright, pretty, fluctuating. But the woman he saw now pulling her legs closed, toes pointed at the ceiling and lowering her legs back to the ground only to pop up standing the correct way, that woman was stone; grounded, exacting, unyielding. Revising his mental image, Spencer settled on a geode: bright and colorful on the inside surrounded by an outer shell of strength to temper it.

Eyes open, nose twitching, Alix padded into the kitchen barefoot, her smile one of the pleasantly surprised. "Good morning," she stated and kissed Spencer's cheek.

"Morning," he returned with a smile of his own. Sometimes it was hard to believe that he could be so happy, so content with another human being. For most of his life, Spencer had been ostracized and isolated for a variety of reasons. His mother was mentally ill, he was genius who'd skipped several grades and gone to college when he was twelve, he was admittedly a little socially awkward (which for some reason Alix seemed to find endearing)… The list could have gone on, but he decided against it. Point was, Spencer had often had trouble connecting with others and had nearly given up on doing so when Alix sauntered her way into his life.

"Mm, french toast," Alix mumbled to herself as she grabbed plates out of the cabinet and the bottle of real maple syrup. "Thanks, gorgeous. You sure know how to treat a girl," she breezed by, and he jumped when she goosed him on her way to where the butter dish sat on top of the microwave. Her chuckle was warm and heartily amused at his expense, but Spencer knew that it wasn't malicious. Alix was just playful, something he loved and welcomed with open arms. Sometimes she gave him glimpses of what a normal childhood must be like with her teasing and enthusiasm, and her wild disregard for social conventions that didn't suit her mood. She had a way of seeing the world with a strange combination of cynicism and joy, finding beauty in things that Spencer had never really paid attention to before. It was refreshing, rejuvenating.

They ate at the table, both of them drinking draughts of hot coffee from large clay mugs. Spencer's was tan and sweet, and Alix drank hers with just a touch of creamer in it, almost moaning as the bitter flavor burst over her tongue. Breakfast was finished fairly fast, and Alix collected their plates, rinsing them in the sink, as Spencer put away the butter dish and the syrup. He was about to head to the bedroom to preemptively select his clothes for the day when Alix caught him by the sleeve. "Conserve water?" she asked with a quirked brow and a mischievous smirk.

"Absolutely," he replied with his own trouble-making grin. It was one that he hadn't known himself capable of until meeting Alix.

Spencer brushed his teeth while Alix adjusted the water temperature. They left their clothes piled on top of the wicker hamper. It was full, meaning that Alix would probably be doing laundry after she got home from work tonight. Unusual though it was, she hadn't been on an undercover assignment in a couple weeks. Apparently her team was doing some work at the home office, closing up a few outstanding cases, and preparing new covers for two of their agents. One would be utilized by Alix, the other by one of her male coworkers. She hadn't specified whom, and Spencer hadn't asked. He tried not to knowing that, like him, there was only so much she could tell him about her work.

Alix stepped in the tub first, disappearing behind the colorful dinosaur shower curtain. After he'd set down his toothbrush, Spencer joined her.

Her hair was slicked back, lengthened a little by the water, ending just above the enticing little notch where her neck and back merged. He loved that spot; it was his favorite spot on her spine. He liked to place his mouth over it, kiss that sensitive and often-overlooked part of her until she was squirming and impatient. It was only when she threatened bodily harm if he didn't hurry the fuck up—her wording, not his—that he gave in to her demands.

He touched her slick back while she tipped her face up to the spray, marveling a little that he was allowed to do so, still awed after a couple months of having had this. It was his first real relationship, after all. The few dates he'd gone on prior to Alix had all ended with "let's be friends." There had been Lila, briefly, but that had been difficult to say the least. They couldn't tell anybody about it because dating victims was frowned upon. So he'd flown out to see her a couple times but that was it. Her career started to pick up, leaving no time for a difficult long-distance possible-relationship.

Granted, Spencer wasn't a virgin when he met Alix either. If he had been, he sincerely doubted his ability to go through with their initial encounter. He would have been far too nervous and self-conscious. Alix would have seemed intimidating with her straightforward approach. Of course, he'd only been with two other girls at that point. Not a whole lot of experience.

His hand slid down to the small of her back and knew that Alix was smiling that peaceful quirk of her lips signifying that she was content. She loved to be petted, almost like a cat.

There were shampoo bubbles sliding down her neck as she lathered her hair and rinsed, and after that Spencer couldn't resist anymore. He lowered his mouth to that spot, his favorite spot, and gently kissed her there. A little edge of teeth had her shivering and chuckling, the sound husky with a sudden surge of arousal. Alix slipped out of his grip, his hands having snuck around her waist, and turned with a smile. "Now, now, we really _do_ have to get ready for work."

He almost pouted at her—almost, but restrained himself from doing so at the last second. If he tried hard enough, Spencer was positive that he could sway her decision, but she was right. They both needed to get to work. A little voice popped up in the forefront of his thoughts, the metaphorical shoulder-devil, pointing out that they'd just have to be fast then.

Having gone ahead without conscious thought, Spencer automatically traded places with Alix in the tub and grabbed the shampoo. He knew that behind him Alix was multitasking, slapping conditioner in her hair, scrubbing with her body wash and the loofah, and looking at his butt—a fact of life that he was growing more and more accustomed to. In fact, he kind of liked that Alix shamelessly checked him out. That was really…flattering. The bottle of conditioner was shoved into his hands and Spencer quickly slicked in a small amount. He only let it sit for a moment before rinsing it out, grateful that Alix used products that weren't overly flowery.

The last thing he needed was to show up at work smelling like a bouquet of flowers. Morgan would have a field day.

Alix slithered around him, rinsing her skin and the conditioner from her hair. Just as she was about to step out of the spray and onto the wide-looped bath rug, he found himself placing a hand on her arm just over her wrist, gliding up until he cupped her elbow.

She looked up to meet his gaze and breathed out, then laughed. "I've created a monster," she murmured even as she drifted closer to him in complete contradiction to her words, "We're going to be late."

"No, we won't," he replied, lips passing over her in a gossamer kiss.

"Mm," she hummed, "I don't really care." Her eyelids lowered, lashes spiky and heavy with water, dark against the porcelain of her skin. She was passive, letting Spencer take the lead, allowing him possession of her curves. His arms wrapped around her, tugged her up onto the balls of her feet, and her wet front pressed against his as he let his body absorb the impact of her weight. They balanced each other, finding purchase against the slippery tub.

He took his time in kissing her, their lips moving in tandem, sounds of her enjoyment spurring him on, and one of his hands dared to wander off the skin at the small of her back and lower, curving over her tight, round buttocks, fingers tracing the subtle divide where her leg began.

Alix broke the connection between them, gasping as his bold touch sought between her legs, caressing her bare slit, teasing her entrance ever so slightly. She lowered herself so that she was flat-footed once more. The action made his finger slip inside her up to the first knuckle—she was already wet. God, he loved that. Once Alix committed herself to a course of action, she really went all-out, no hesitations. A moan spilled out of her parted lips, breathy and wanting.

"Spencer," she whined. That was it, but he knew what it meant. Here, now, please.

He withdrew and turned her about, braced her hands against the back wall, the part that wasn't as wet and would give her better purchase. Alix had to lean a little to make the gap and it thrust her rear towards him. Allowing himself a moment of primal, masculine pleasure, he enjoyed that picture, memorized every detail so that when he remembered it—and he would, frequently and with great relish—it would be crisp and perfect, laden with all the sensuality of the moment.

"Are you going to do something or just enjoy the view?" Alix teased, shooting a sardonic smile over her shoulder.

Spencer grinned, his face darkening with embarrassment as he did so. "I was getting there," he answered, stepping up obligingly. With a gentle pressure on her thigh, he indicated that she should place her foot up on the rim. It decreased her balance, but opened her up for him in a most enticing way. After that he quite literally took himself in hand and slid inside of her. Not giving her time to adjust, he didn't stop until he was completely sheathed and Alix released a small squeak. "Fast enough for you?"

"No," she bit back, "Faster, harder. Now."

Even when Alix surrendered it was always conditional; there was always that little bit of spine waiting to make an appearance. Her back arched as he pulled out and slid back in, hard and fast, like she requested. A satisfied grunt, barely audible over the sound of water. He wasn't even sure if it was him or her.

His world narrowed down until his only focus was on the movement of his hips, the sweet clench of her cunt, and the explosion building up in his balls. Spencer knew that he was touching her, stimulating her clitoris with his fingertips, and fondling her breasts. It was fantastic—hot, intense, steamy, lungs pulling in wet air, heart pounding. Then the suddenness of her climax and his own barreling out of him at a speed that felt like molasses and light all at the same time.

He was panting and something inside of him was warm, tingling, pulsating still, bursting to get out. His softening length slipped out and Alix turned with a warm laugh. She was smiling as she pulled him down by his ears for a long meeting of mouths.

* * *

Spencer worked in the office that day, building profiles and sending them out via e-mail to their various recipients. He was good at that kind of work, at the desk job. Out in the field he could admit that he wasn't the best agent to have at your back. He sucked at hand-to-hand and his people skills were…not stellar, and he'd gotten his ass handed to him by UnSubs on more than one occasion. They tended to delegate the more stationary tasks to him—set up, do the geographic profiles, analyze the evidence. That was okay though. Reid preferred working in the office to chasing down bad guys with a gun in his hands. His mind was where his strength lay.

After work he went home—to his own apartment—where he ate dinner and read a book. Alix called a little before seven. "Hey, gorgeous, what's up?" her voice sounded light and tinny coming through his cell phone.

"Not a whole lot. I was just doing some reading," Spencer responded, shifting so that he was lying length-wise on the couch.

"Cool. What'cha reading?"

"_When the Purple Mountain Burns_."

"Ooh, I've read that one. It's really good," Alix advised.

Spencer chuckled. "Yeah, I got it from your bookshelves."

"Really?"

"Yes. I asked you over a week ago," he informed her casually, didn't tell her that it was exactly eight days ago. He could have gotten more specific, but it probably wouldn't help jog her memory any more. Alix had a tendency to forget things she didn't consider pertinent, at least at home. He wasn't sure about on the job.

"Oh, well…whatever." He could picture her shrugging nonchalantly, "Anyway, I called to tell you that my cover was officially given a done stamp today, so I'm going under tonight. I'll be out of contact until further notice."

"Okay," Spencer hesitated and something in his chest twisted hard, squeezed, and out burst the words, "You'll be safe, right?"

"As safe as I can be," Alix answered, her voice abruptly lower, sober, and Reid knew that was all he could ask for. Their jobs weren't always calm. It was rare that Alix should have spent so much time in the office these past few weeks. As time passed, he saw her impatience grow, her eagerness to be out in the field again making her chomp at the bit. Despite the strain it put on her mentally, emotionally, Alix truly loved her job. She lived for it, for the rush that sinking deep into character brought her.

"Alright," Reid said, "Good. I…I worry, you know."

The other line was quiet for a moment, with merely the sound of her breathing, light and even, coming through in his ear. When she finally spoke, her voice was soft like a summer breeze: "I know you do, Spencer." Her voice shifted abruptly and Spencer knew Alix was forcing herself to sound more cheerful for his benefit. "But you don't have to. I have a great team and they are with me every step of the way, and a lot of our cases are joint efforts with other departments. It's not like I'm the Lone Ranger. I've got plenty of people looking out for me, the same way your team looks out for you. Everything will be fine. You'll see."

"I suppose," Reid replied, but somewhere inside of him he didn't really believe it.

They spoke a little while longer about inconsequential matters: what he thought of his borrowed book, the latest office gossip, and finally they said their goodbyes.

Reid laid his cell phone on his chest and rubbed his forehead again. The migraine broadsided him ten minutes later and didn't quit until he threw up hours afterward.

* * *

Eleven and a half days later, Reid got the call. It was never nice to have one's deepest fears validated, but there it was staring him in the face, papers color-coded and collated in one of the briefing folders. He hadn't even opened it yet, but somehow he knew. Garcia had a look on her face of worry and sorrow and more than a little pity when she handed it over to him.

He was just about to head up to the conference room when his desk phone rang. Reid reached for the black plastic receiver automatically. "Doctor Reid," he stated as he settled the piece next to his face.

"Doctor Reid," a man's voice spoke over the airwaves; it was low like a bass drum with a slight hoarseness to it. The man was probably a smoker or had been for a long time. "This is Supervisory Special Agent Wilson over in the Specialized Criminal Investigations department. I wanted to give you a heads-up ahead of time. My unit has sent a case over to be reviewed. There's a video clip along with it that includes footage of Special Agent Blackwood during her current assignment."

"Alright," Spencer responded, but he could hear there was a note in his own voice that didn't sound quite right. It was as though he'd suddenly found himself submerged in some very icy water. He was scared but numb at the same time. The panic was a distant thing, like a thunderstorm still far away but you could see in the sky that it was happening. "Why the warning, SSA Wilson?"

The gruff-sounding man cleared his throat. "I'm aware that you've been seeing Agent Blackwood for some time now. The clip is pretty brutal. I thought, under the circumstances, that it would be considerate of someone not to let you walk in there unprepared. Just remember that she's okay."

Shit. Not good. He was getting warned by the head of Alix's unit that everything was fine, to keep his cool. Everything, clearly, was not fine.

"Understood. I appreciate the call, SSA Wilson," Reid heard himself say.

"Yeah," Wilson grumped, but it sounded tired and half-hearted, and hung up the phone. Spencer replaced his on the cradle, picked up the folder he knew now held information on his girlfriend, and headed up to the conference room. Everyone was already seated. They'd been waiting on him.

Garcia still had that look on her face like a heartbroken puppy.

Hotch cleared his throat. "This is an in-house investigation that we've been asked to help on. It comes from SCI. At first the case was rather straightforward, the goal being to shut down an illegal fight ring. SCI sent a male operative in, Special Agent Greg Farmer—" His picture flashed on the screen, the standard F.B.I. ID background. Reid filed away the image, labeled it as 'Farmer, whom Alix kicked in the balls' and felt the humor somewhere underneath the ice surrounding his heart. He flicked through his folder, finally opening it because he couldn't do anything else. He had to have the information to make the profile. Farmer was a big man with a face that was handsome in a chiseled, rough-hewn kind of way, the features put together in a way that made Reid think of action-movie stars. His hair was dirty blond, cropped close, making his face the first thing that people noticed. The second thing, Reid was sure; that people noticed was just how huge the man was. He was six-foot-two of rock solid muscle. Scary.

"The other operative sent into the female fighters' ring was Special Agent Alexis Blackwood," Hotch continued.

It was strange hearing someone say her name like that—her full name and her title. Nobody called her Alexis, not if they had any sense. She didn't like it, claimed it made her feel too much like a girl. Reid remembered her saying, 'And in our field, I don't need to be any more of a 'girl' than I already am. I'm cute and tiny, so I've got to have a name with a little more bite to it.'

Like before, her F.B.I. ID picture flashed up on the screen. Her hair was brown and a little longer than it was now, and from what he could see of her clothes she looked every bit the upstanding agent. Reid concluded that what he was seeing was an older picture of Alix, probably fresh from the Army and new to the Agency.

"Two days ago the team lost contact with Agent Blackwood. Her cover, Emily Sherman, was supposed to show up for a match that night but never did. No one's heard from her since," Garcia broke in, "And yesterday this video turned up on an anonymous video-sharing site." She hit a button on her laptop and suddenly the screen was filled with a live-action nightmare.

"Do you like to watch?" a digitally altered voice spoke. It could have been a man or a woman. Unfortunately, it was impossible to tell with the electronic distortion. "We know you do. Welcome back to Bloodsport." A logo flashed on the screen, much like one would expect for any television show. The lettering was animated to look like human flesh, and as an underline sliced its way onto the screen in the shape of a knife, a blood spatter emerged from the low-hanging 'p.' It hit the inside of the screen and dripped down as the tail of the 'p' was severed, falling to the ground with a sickening slap. It was remarkably good animation, if gruesome.

"Today's contestants are our favorite girl, Number One—" A quick image of a young woman was on the screen. She had long, dark hair that was pulled back in a severe ponytail and appeared very muscular in a sports bra and cropped running pants. Her sneakers were mostly black, but Spencer thought he could see blood stains on some of the white detail work. Another snapshot saw her in different clothes, a spandex tank top that bound her breasts flat and loose running shorts. She had another woman, an unknown, in a vicious sleeper hold. The expression on her face was fierce and concentrated, making her aristocratic features even more severe-looking. The next she kicked her opponent clear across the ring, throwing her arms up in triumph. In the next clip, the Amazon woman sliced a knife through yet another woman's throat with an expression of joy on her face. She knew she was being filmed, and she liked it. Reid automatically added her to the profile. She was either the UnSub or an accomplice.

"—and our Challenger." There was a picture of Alix, looking angry, defiant, but willing herself into stillness. She wore a wrinkled chambray shirt and tiny, dark denim shorts. Unlike the other girl, she didn't have any shoes on. Physically, there were bruises on her forearms, visible because of her rolled up sleeves, and angry violet-red bruising on her throat. A quick montage showed her in the middle of a fight, rolling to the ground onto her back and using her charging opponent's momentum to throw them. Her hands grabbed the other woman's tank top, and her bare feet planted themselves in her stomach. She shoved with all her might and flipped the woman heels over head. The girl landed on her back five feet away. Another clip showed her delivering a quick combination of punches to an unknown opponent. Obviously, Alix didn't know she was being filmed. Finally one last piece was shown where she appeared to be struggling against someone holding her. The other figure was too dark and too well-covered to identify even the gender, but Alix was in her current clothes. Reid was betting it was filmed as they abducted her. "These two women are about to battle it out for your viewing pleasure, so please go ahead and place your bets now. You know how it works." The host's tone was light and cheerful, sending a shiver right down Spencer's spine.

Nothing about this mockery of a fight show deserved frivolity.

The scene cut to an empty cage. It was rounded and the floor was probably spring-board. Spencer thought of wrestling programs on television, how they liked to cage the fighters in the ring to keep them from getting thrown out.

A door swung open, drawing his attention to the far left of the screen. There was some sort of holding area attached to the ring—it reminded Spencer of a dog kennel-and Alix sat against the metal lattice-work on the far side of it, her legs drawn up, hands dangling in the air from her outstretched arms. She looked as blank and empty as Spencer felt as she suddenly convulsed with pain and cried out, flinging her body away from the cage wall as fast as she could. Alix laid on the floor for a moment, curled up around herself, twitching. The cage was electrified.

Finally, excruciatingly, she crawled out of the holding cell and into the ring. Standing up obviously took her some effort, and he could see her trying to stretch out the cramped muscles that the kennel had forced on her. The door swung shut behind her, trapping Alix inside that arena with nowhere to run to.

She chafed her arms with her hands like she was cold, but automatically dropped them to her side as a door on the opposite side of the ring opened. In came the woman with her hawkish features, the one referred to as Number One. Personally, Spencer thought was a stupid nickname, but he understood the message in it. This woman believed herself to be the best. She was going to try her damnedest to kill Alix in this fight. Her pride, her ego would allow for nothing less than total annihilation. He could see Alix's demise written in the other woman's stern visage.

Alix was unmoved. She simply stood and looked her fill, taking the measure of her opponent. She appeared so small and fragile next to the other woman, Spencer noted. It wasn't a fair fight. Then again, it wasn't intended to be. The UnSub wanted carnage, not sportsmanship. That was the whole reason for this. It wasn't enough just to go and watch the fights. The UnSub needed to see, to experience the kill.

The other fighter moved suddenly, pointing her finger straight at Alix. "You're going to die here," she stated. Much to his surprise, the corners of Alix's mouth lifted in a sardonic smile. He knew there was a snarky comment brewing somewhere inside of her, but she held it back in favor of shrugging and continuing to stretch, eyes warily locked on the woman taking up the other side of the ring.

One grinned wickedly and popped her spine in an enormous sweep of her arms, and cracked her neck with a sharp twist. Then the bell rang, and she stalked forward, taped hands curled into loose fists. Alix remained where she was, shifting her stance so that she was more stable, letting the bloodthirsty fighter come to her. The first hit came from the other woman, of course, an uppercut to the stomach that Alix didn't dodge. The air whooshed out of her and she doubled over the fist plowed into her soft mid-section. She'd put herself at a distinct disadvantage in the fight by taking the first blow, but Reid knew why she'd done it. Alix wanted to see just how much of a punch the bitch packed.

She almost caught the next blow, but managed to throw herself to the side in an undignified roll just as the fighter was bringing her fist down to hit Alix in the back.

Alix popped back up using her hands for leverage, and the two women circled each other warily. "Here, kitty, kitty," the other woman taunted with a sneer on her face, "What's the matter? You scared? You should—" The words were cut off as Alix moved quickly, taking advantage of the woman's cockiness, distracted as she was with her taunting. She darted in and used an open palm to hit the other woman's face high. Her nails acted as talons and drew blood in deep furrows over her right eye and on the other woman's nose. Time and exertion would send it dripping into her field of vision, Reid knew, and would give Alix more opportunities against such a larger opponent.

The other screamed and swung blindly, rage making her sloppy. Alix raised her leg automatically, hands grabbing onto the other woman. One arm slid across her throat while she grasped her shoulder, the other curved behind her tricep. If she pressed forward, she'd choke herself against Alix's hold. The messy hit landed on Alix's thigh, but by that time her momentum was unstoppable, and she drove her knee deep into the other woman's stomach tissue. The fighter grunted hard, but Alix wasn't done yet. Her leg lowered back into her stance and used the ground for more power as she pushed off of it, aiming her next knee-kick higher, hitting her chest.

Ouch, that had to hurt.

The fighter reeled away, but Alix still had her gripped tightly by her arm and used her other fist to throw a wild punch at her. She didn't have the right leverage and missed as the fighter jerked her head back, then suddenly her grip faltered as the other woman surprised her by hooking her leg behind Alix's knee, dropping her onto her back. Her nails left red marks on the fighter's bare tricep, but she didn't seem to notice or care. Alix hit the mat hard, but kicked up with one bare foot, catching the other woman between her legs.

She yelled and dropped, and was blinded the dripping blood momentarily. As a reflex, she raised a hand to wipe it away. Alix caught her off guard, wrapping her legs around the woman's torso in a brutal mockery of a more intimate pose, and twisted, rolling her body with the momentum until the fighter was awkwardly pinned on the ground with Alix straddling her mid-section.

Alix hit her with quick jabs, aiming at the woman's chest, face, and head, falling like a heavy hailstorm, pitting the hoods of cars. The sound of the fighter's nose breaking was drowned out by her screaming.

The fighter arched and twisted, trying to buck Alix off of her, but she hung on grimly, gripping tightly with her legs. Her expression was dark, serious in a way he'd never seen it before. Spencer wasn't sure who he was watching anymore. It wasn't Alix, and it wasn't her cover. Was it the soldier? The survivor? The indomitable will that had kept her moving forward even when she had every reason to lay down and die? There was hate written in the deeply drawn line of her eyebrows, in the grimace of lips pulling away from her teeth, in every straight punch.

Then the fighter beneath her rallied enough to rock slightly back, bringing her knee pistoning up with enough force and flexibility to give Alix a solid blow to her back. She screamed and faltered, and her grip slipped just enough for the bloodied woman to get the upper hand, rolling them and pinning Alix beneath her. With her hips lodged between Alix's legs, she had little leverage, and the other woman was quick to return the earlier favor, finding the weak spot on Alix's torso where a rib had already cracked or given way and utilizing that weakness with repeated blows.

Alix tried to curl up, to get her arms between her and those jabs. Sometimes she was effective, sometimes not. She gritted her teeth against the pain and waited for an opening. It didn't come until the other fighter got overly confident and swung her hand back for an open handed slap at Alix's face. The wide arm movement left her exposed, and Alix took the opening, reaching up with one arm and grabbing the woman's broken, bloody nose, twisting hard, grinding cartilage against bone. The woman roared in pain, her arm faltered, sending that slap landing against Alix's shoulder.

It barely registered as Alix shifted her hold, releasing the nose and sliding her hand against the woman's face. She barely resisted as Alix used her head like a steering wheel to topple her body off of her, and scrambled after, elbowing her in the neck and pinning her almost in a cuff hold, knee on the woman's stomach. Except Alix dug in, forcing the breath out of her, keeping her from drawing in enough much-needed oxygen. Keeping her body low over the other so that the woman's weakened fists couldn't gain momentum, Reid couldn't see what Alix did next. Whatever it was, it made the fighter scream bloody murder, and Alix pulled back with red on her lips. She spat something out across the mat.

Rather than weakening her, this just seemed to make her opponent angrier, and she caught Alix's hand as it was coming down in a straight punch, twisting her by the wrist so it threw off her aim. The mat absorbed the impact of Alix's punch. Rather than worrying about breaking free of that hold right away, Alix used her opposite arm to lean in, laying it horizontally across the other woman's throat. The move would either make her pass out or, if Alix could hold it long enough, kill her. As she did that, she rotated her wrist against the other's hold, slipping loose just in time to catch a heel strike on her injured ribs.

Her stifled cry of pain was heartbreaking, but she didn't release the pressure on the woman's throat. Then suddenly the fighter's hips twisted and bucked, and Alix's knee was dislodged, sliding to the mat. With her legs free, the larger woman was able to roll almost in a backward somersault. One leg was forced into the meager space between Alix's neck and the fighter's body, and leverage applied to push Alix away, the woman's muscular leg even more effective than her arms at putting Alix on her back.

She landed awkwardly, and something on her face told Spencer that she'd felt something new give. The agony was written in every line of her. Then the fighter cocked her leg and brought down her sneaker-clad foot on Alix, landing on her lower abdomen as she rolled away and got to her feet.

Over the tape, Spencer heard the distorted voice ask the audience, "Last call for bets. Who do you think's tough enough?"

Blood was pouring over the side of the Amazon woman's face, originating from the torn top of her ear where Reid noticed that she was missing a chunk of cartilage. Spencer felt a rush of fierce pride from somewhere deep within him at the sight of it. That was his girlfriend, who kicked ass and took names, and pulled a Mike Tyson in the middle of a fight. What a fucking bad-ass. Even as he thought it, the fact that he'd just used Alix-type phraseology in his head made him smile: how apropos.

Alix forced herself to her feet, but it wasn't pretty and it wasn't graceful. She was injured in several places in her ribs and had contusions forming on pretty much every part of her body. Reid thought it was highly likely though that she was still riding high on a wave of adrenaline, and probably wasn't feeling much of the pain yet. Her face was beginning to swell bright violet-red over her cheekbone, where her blood was beginning to clot.

She kept her hands up, guarding her face as the fighter made a feint to come closer. Alix flinched, moving to dodge, but the woman switched directions, coming from the other way. Essentially, Alix backed into the high kick that caught her on her tender side, propelling her back the way she'd came. Moving with it, Alix let her body run a few steps forward. Her hand stretched out, fingers tangling in the woman's ponytail. She used it like a leash and dragged her along a few steps until she stopped too quickly. The fighter plowed into Alix's hard open palm heel strike, and yelled as her collarbone snapped.

"Bitch," Alix cursed just loud enough for the mics to pick up, and tugged on the ponytail, going low so that the fighter's face would meet Alix's knee. Too many blows to that broken nose finally took their toll on her, and she dropped to the ground. Unconscious or dead, Reid wasn't sure.

Panting, Alix backed away from the other woman, wiping her bloody hands on her red-speckled chambray shirt. She looked around, caught sight of the camera way up in the corner. "You happy now?" she asked to whomever was on the other end of them, "Get your jollies? Sick fuck." One arm curled protectively over her stomach.

Instead of answering, the door that the fighter had emerged from swung open. A figure dressed entirely in black from head to toe flung something in the cage. It turned end over end until it landed, stuck neatly in the mat, vibrating slightly.

It was a knife.

A sleek-looking knife that was entirely black from blade to handle. They would have to identify that knife. The door swung shut and the figure disappeared.

Alix stood there staring at the knife until the distorted voice returned on the screen, only that time it was directed at her, not the audience. "Kill her," it said.

She shook her head resolutely. "No."

"Do it. If she lives, you'll fight her again. She dies? Your reason for being here is over."

Reid didn't like that wording, and apparently neither did Alix. She shook her head again. "No."

"So be it." The voice disappeared and seemed to switch so that only the audience could hear it once again. "There you have it. Today is a draw. Our Challenger and Number One are going to get to have a re-match. I know I'm looking forward to it. Aren't you? Tune in next time for Bloodsport." The feed was abruptly cut off, the video ended, and Reid was left staring blankly. That was it? No. No, no. There had to be more. Alix was injured. She needed help. There was no way she could do another match with that woman with her kind of injuries.

Reid pushed back the panic that wanted to overwhelm him, to undermine his rational thinking until all that remained was raw emotion and nerves like stripped wires, sparking together spastically with every movement. He closed his eyes in a long blink and forced himself back into that dead space he crawled into when the horror of their work threatened to overwhelm him. He rubbed absently at his temple where he realized a headache was brewing.

When his eyes opened, he saw everyone looking at him. He put on his poker face. "So," he began in a voice that was unaffected by inner turmoil, "Have we identified the woman?"

Garcia stared at him blankly.

"Garcia," Hotch prompted her.

"Oh, uh, yeah!" She jumped in her seat, startled, and clicked on her laptop, bringing up a driver's license photo of the women. "This is Marie Coolidge. She has a record of assault and battery, aggravated assault, assaulting a police officer, attempted murder… You get the picture. She served eight years of a ten year sentence at Bedford Hills Correctional Facility. She was released on parole. Apparently, she went off the grid three years ago, disappearing from New York without a word. Nobody's seen or heard from her until now.

"There's not enough to get an I.D. on the other UnSub," Garcia added without being asked. Reid had a feeling that it was solely for his benefit, and he needed to put a stop to that right now. If they were all going to put on their kid gloves when dealing with him on this case, they were never going to get an accurate profile put together in time. Already he could see the sympathetic looks on Garcia and Seaver's faces. Hotch looked guarded, as usual, and Rossi was poker-faced too. Morgan had his speculative look on his face, like he was watching Reid and analyzing him, ready to jump in and protect the baby bird of the team from falling.

In Alix's words, 'well, fuck that.'

"Look, guys," Reid stated bluntly, "I don't need you to tell me what we don't have or walk on eggshells. I need you to do your jobs, so that we can do this job the same we do every other case. I'm not going to let my emotions get in the way. I will not run off half-cocked without a clue. You know me, I'm not a cowboy. We work this the same way we do every other one, alright?"

One by one as he spoke, he locked eyes with his teammates, being unusually direct with his eye contact. Spencer challenged them until they backed down, that is until he met Hotch's gaze. They looked at each other across that table, Hotch the alpha wolf and Spencer the beta who thought to challenge him. The room seemed to hold its collective breath as Hotch sized him up. Finally, he nodded after a breathless eternity. "Alright," Hotch agreed, "We work it like any other case. Wheels up in thirty."

With that, Hotch got up from the round table and left the room. People trickled out after him until it was just Reid and Morgan left. Reid busied himself clearing up the papers in front of them, organizing them back into the folder.

Morgan cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, kid," the older man stated as he stood up, "I know this has got to be hard for you."

Reid looked up then and told him bluntly, "It helps to have compartmentalization in my skill set."

A beat later, and he offered Morgan a small, humorless smile. Morgan returned the gesture with his own smile, a little more genuine than his coworker's, and a wry snort. "You're something else."

* * *

Spencer had chuckled wryly to himself when it turned out that they were going to Vegas. Of course, it started in Vegas. The City of Sin. It was dubbed that for more than just the decadent nightlife. Honestly, it was nearly the perfect city to commit a crime in. The population was always changing, people flying in for vacations, and leaving once they'd lost their money. They met with SSA Wilson and the remainder of his team at the regional government building. He was, as Spencer had gleaned from Alix's sparse descriptions, a veteran of the field. He kept his gray hair clipped close to his head on the sides. The top was a little longer, allowing the curl in his hair to show. Serious brown eyes sat amidst crow's feet and worry lines, and his expression was dour at best. Then again, he didn't have much to smile about at the moment. He had a bit of a gut, but overall looked fit. The gut was more due to the fact that he was at least fifty rather than that he was lazy.

"SSA Wilson," Hotch stepped forward, "I'm SSA Hotchner of the BAU. These are SSAs Rossi and Morgan, Agent Seaver, and Doctor Reid."

The older man nodded and began in his very distinct voice to introduce his team. "Hey. I'm Wilson. This here—" he jerked his thumb at the man next to him, "—is Agent Farmer." He was even more intimidating in person. Reid knew he would never, ever want to have to come up against this man. He'd go straight for his gun rather than risk one of those ham hands giving him a black eye or worse.

Then he turned to the woman striding across the meager bullpen to meet them. She had a whole box of files in her arms, and looked very unhappy as she stopped next to them, barking, "The locals are on line two. Somebody better fucking tell them I am not your secretary."

"This is Domino," Wilson ignored her in favor of telling them.

"Don't worry," Farmer told them, "She's just in a bad mood. She can't really take your balls off with words. I'd be a eunuch several times over if that were the case." He shrugged nonchalantly as though to say 'what can you do?'

Domino narrowed her eyes at him, and if looks could kill that one would have. Aside from being rather abrupt, Domino reminded Reid of Prentiss in a lot of ways. She had dark hair that she cropped short in what Reid knew-only because Alix had told him-was a pixie cut, and dark eyes, though her olive skin tone indicated Italian heritage or maybe a little Latino. She carried herself with an assurance that came from experience and confidence, wore boots with stacked heels with her dress pants and navy blue blouse. He was willing to bet that somewhere around there she had a matching suit jacket to go with her outfit.

"Excuse me," Wilson said, "Gotta get the phone. Farmer, show them where they can set up. Domino, switch to decaf. You're ornery."

"Sir," she growled as she stalked away with her box up the stairs into an office.

Farmer looked at them with a grin on his forbidding face, and Spencer saw why Alix was so fond of him. He looked big and scary, but had a warm personality, particularly where it came to his friends. Having been in the military, Alix had probably spent a lot of time around guys like Farmer and found her niche with that personality type. "Well, I'll show you to the conference room. This isn't our set-up either, so be sure to thank the guys around the office. They cleared out and moved their meetings to a different floor so we could have a couple rooms down there." He turned and started leading the way across the room and up the four-step staircase that Domino had gone up. Instead of going into the small office where they could see her single-mindedly plowing through files, they turned into a moderately sized conference room. "I hope this will be enough space for you guys, otherwise I've got no idea where to put you. Only place bigger than this that's available is the lobby downstairs." Farmer chuckled at his own joke.

"This is perfect," Hotch told him, "Most of the time we'll be out in the field anyway."

It was just a square conference room with a long, plastic-topped table and some plastic chairs surrounding it. On one end there was a large, wheeled white, dry-erase board, and a map of Las Vegas tacked up on the wall.

Strange, Spencer thought, to be here among the F.B.I. Usually, when they flew out, they worked with the local police on a case. As if their thinking was simpatico, Hotch asked, "And what about the local authorities? Are they involved in this case?"

"They've given us jurisdiction on this one," Farmer said as the team began unloading things and getting set up.

Spencer moved automatically toward the map of the city, almost drifting. He was listening though, without trying to look like he was listening.

"Since it's our agent. However, there've been three other fighters over the past six months who have disappeared from the scene. It was assumed that they had just gotten sick of it and gone home. We're obviously re-evaluating that now. We are keeping the locals in the loop and they've already offered to provide back-up if we need it."

Reid piped up then, "We should have Garcia look for more of those broadcasts and see if we can identify other victims."

"Garcia?" Farmer asked, aiming the question at Hotch.

"Our technical analyst," the team leader replied.

"Also," Reid interrupted, "I need a board that I can push pins into so I can get started on a geographic profile."

"I'll get right on that," Farmer stated and walked out of the room.

"There's not much to go by yet, Reid," Hotch began.

Turning away from the map of his hometown, Reid leveled a stare at his boss. "I know," he said, "But there will be soon. Garcia works fast."

On the other side of the room, Morgan was already dialing into Quantico on his cell phone, sending along orders to their mistress of machines.

A moment later Domino walked in the room, dumped her box of files on the table and asked, "So, who wants coffee? I'm not twitching yet. I think that calls for another machiatto."

Spencer offered her a small smile and said, "Just coffee with lots and lots of sugar and cream for me."

"Size?" Domino shot back.

"A vat, if you can get it."

"Done and done," she laughed, "Anyone else?" She left ten minutes later with their orders written on a scrap of paper. On her way out she encountered Wilson, who took one look at her and said, "Decaf." With a dismissive wave, Domino kept right on going, calling over her shoulder, "I should get you large black coffee, yeah? Better than the sludge they have here."

"Gonna be a long day!" Wilson called.

"Hence the coffee!"

* * *

The room was cold, but at least the weird wire cage they were keeping her in was elevated off the ground. That frigid concrete would have made her want to cry, and at the moment she was doing all she could to avoid that. There wasn't time to lose her shit and get all sloppy. The name of the game right now was survival.

At least the gym floor was kind of squishy and warmed up easily underneath her.

Alix stripped off her blood-spattered chambray shirt, leaving her in nothing but the white cami she'd put on underneath it…was it two days ago? It was hard to tell since the room that the ring was set up in didn't have any windows. Shame, she thought, she'd actually kind of liked that shirt. She used it to wrap her ribs as best as she could, giving them some much needed support and immobilization.

God, those hurt every time she breathed. Thankfully the bitch hadn't punctured a lung. Feeling them carefully, Alix ascertained that she had one, maybe two ribs that were broken, and at least one was cracked further back. It definitely didn't bode well for her if she had to fight She-Hulk again.

Then again, she knew for sure that Hulk-Master-Bitch had a broken collarbone and nose.

Laying down carefully on the mat, making sure she wasn't touching the electrified sides, Alix forced herself to close her eyes. She needed the sleep. Maybe later they'd bring her something to eat. The kidnappers wanted her to put on a decent showing, didn't they?

She didn't know. Profiling wasn't really her strong suit under normal circumstances. Emotionally tattered as she was, her meager skills were even less accurate than usual. She wondered idly if anyone had told Spencer about her disappearance. Alix wasn't sure what that would accomplish, if anything, except to make him worry about her. It wasn't fair; she hated that he'd been right to be concerned in this instance. Yes, her job was dangerous, but not this kind of danger. Criminals did not just kidnap her off the street, not unless that was a part of the op. This was a whole new level of 'what the fuck?' An unknown variable. The 'off your fucking rocker' factor.

If they'd had any idea this was going on, the assignment never would have been authorized.

Alix wished she'd taken the shot, killed the other fighter, but she knew it meant her death if she did. Either the woman she'd fought and the masked man were personally involved, or she would simply out-live her usefulness to them. If there was no one to fight, there was no reason to keep her alive. If she could keep the fight going, postpone the results, her team would have more time to find her. By now they knew she was missing. Hopefully they wouldn't be too late.

* * *

Two F.B.I. teams crammed into one conference room made for a tight workspace, but somehow they managed it. There was one awkward moment when they were all in there that Domino, balancing a huge thermos of coffee in one hand and a stack of arrest records in the other, tripped on a chair rung and almost wound up in Morgan's lap. Reid tried not to laugh at the expression on her face, like she'd just spotted a particularly gross-looking bug. The fact that Domino—he still wasn't sure if that was her first or last name—was a lesbian wasn't particularly obvious. She wasn't very butch in her appearance, and she didn't give off any signs that she was trying to compete with the men. He guessed that Domino was what they called a 'lipstick lesbian,' though he didn't think she was actually wearing lipstick. Chapstick, maybe. Perhaps some of that lip-stain stuff that Alix liked, but only on special occasions. However, caught up in Morgan's brawny arms, the look on Domino's face was decidedly unimpressed.

A lot of Alix's comments about Domino suddenly made a lot more sense.

She let him help her back up, but she wasn't particularly pleased about it. Then Domino took a seat at the other end of the table, hitching her hip up onto the corner of the actual table since there weren't any chairs left available.

Hotch cleared his throat. Just that one tiny gesture was enough to draw everyone's attention to him. It was a skill that Reid secretly admired and wished he possessed, but the ability to command a room was beyond him. He was a rather abysmal public speaker, truth be told.

"We've got four known victims, one of which is Agent Blackwood." Garcia had come through, as usual, and the board had pictures of four healthy women on it, right next to the images of their almost-unrecognizable corpses.

"Molly Franklin disappeared four months ago. Prior to that, she was an underground fighter here in Las Vegas. Her record was zero losses. She was beaten to death. Sarah Fisher primarily fought in Reno, but did drive down to Vegas for fights occasionally. She was taken three months ago, and was reported missing when she failed to pick her six-year old daughter up from school. Ronnie Kingsley was taken two months ago from Vegas. Now Agent Blackwood has gone missing."

Rossi shifted his stance, resting his hands on either side of his hips, effectively garnering everyone's attention. "One of the things these women appear to have in common is that, aside from being underground fighters, they also did very well in the ring. Franklin had no losses, Fisher had only lost once, Kingsley didn't have any losses… The UnSubs choose these women because they present a challenge. Coolidge needs that. She needs to feel that she is genuinely the best fighter in that ring. She needs to dominate these opponents."

"The other UnSub, based on digital analysis, is a man. We're not sure of his age or ethnicity, but this guy is around six-feet tall and about one hundred and eighty-five pounds. He's fit, active, enough so that subduing the women is fairly easy for him so long as he gets the drop on them. However, that's not the part he enjoys. For this UnSub, he lives for being a ringmaster. He likes having control over this situation, watching from on high like he's some kind of god," Morgan stated, "This is the reason that he airs the fights over the internet, and it's also the reason why he allows his spectators to bet on the outcome."

"It also gives him a tidy income," Seaver interrupted, "Probably enough to fuel the expenses for the fights. Our analyst is currently working on tracking down those funds. However, the fact that it's taking her some time means that either the UnSubs have another accomplice, one with enough technical knowledge to obscure the money trail by re-routing through several banks and accounts internationally, or one of the UnSubs has this knowledge. It is unlikely that Coolidge does. She's poorly educated and her time in prison has made her even less tech-savvy. She doesn't have the patience to learn an entirely new skill set. This leaves us with either the unidentified male UnSub or a third accomplice."

Reid didn't stand up from his seat, but he did sit up a little straighter before he spoke, subconsciously tapping his pencil on the tabletop as he did so. "Geographically, there's not too much to go by. Three of the victims were taken from the Las Vegas area. According to the clips we were able to find, Agent Blackwood was taken outside of her cover's apartment building sometime in the early afternoon, before her scheduled fight later that night. We were able to identify two other kidnapping sites using the same method. Sarah Fisher appears to have been taken outside her home in the early morning hours, probably after dropping her daughter off at school. Ronnie Kingsley was also abducted outside of her apartment building here in Vegas. The only one whose abduction we weren't able to get on film was the first victim's, Molly Franklin, which makes sense because the UnSubs were still developing their M.O.

"We have little information about the building in the videos. It's lit artificially, so it either has no windows or they were blacked out. It's likely that this building is located somewhere in Las Vegas or on the outskirts. The UnSubs are regular attendees of the underground fights here. That's all I have for you at this time," Reid finished with a quiet sigh and a sip of cooling coffee.

Farmer shifted from where he was standing with his back up against the wall, muscular arms crossed over his chest in a way that screamed 'bodyguard' to Reid. Maybe he'd worked in the private sector before?

"We'll be watching the fights tonight," he said, "Our operation's been aborted for the time being. I'll still have to use my cover when I'm out, but it shouldn't be that unbelievable for a fighter to be watching other people's fights. A couple of agents in the mix wearing earwigs, and hopefully we'll be able to spot someone matching the physical description acting suspiciously. You said the UnSub video tapes everything, so keep your eyes peeled for someone recording the fight, alright?"

The meeting broke up, and people slowly scattered. Domino scuttled off to go use the floor's public restroom as a changing stall, and Farmer exited to go talk to the locals with whom they were coordinating the fight coverage. Hotch, Rossi, Morgan, and Seaver went to go check out the abduction sites again, at least the two that were in town, to recreate the scene and make sure they hadn't missed anything.

Reid sat, staring blankly at the map on the table, his mind a whirlwind of incoherency. It was ten whole minutes before he noticed that Wilson hadn't left the room. Alix's superior was calmly sitting at the table, reviewing the preliminary profile and gulping down coffee. It was when he set his mug down with a loud clank that Spencer startled and looked up. He smiled sheepishly at his own antics, and Wilson gave him a grim sort of half-smile.

"You okay?" Wilson asked shortly.

Nodding his head, Reid replied, "Yes." Then upon further reflection he sighed and dropped his pencil on the table, burying his face in his hands. "No," he mumbled, "I don't know."

Instead of giving him a buck-up speech like Spencer half-expected, Wilson grunted and said, "It's a hard thing they're asking you to do, to sit here and be unaffected while someone you know and love is in mortal danger. Find her, but don't get emotional about finding her. That's gotta be fucking awful. If that were my wife, god forbid, I'd be a fucking mess too. Somebody would've gotten punched in the face, for sure. You're doing a good job at keeping it together."

"Thanks," Spencer mumbled and dropped his hands back down to the table, "I feel so helpless. I've never felt that before. I mean, I know I'm doing all that I can, but I feel like…like I should be out there pounding on people's doors and demanding to know where she is."

"I bet you do," Wilson sympathized, "But you know that won't really accomplish anything. The best we can do for Alix is to keep doing what we're doing. The methods work."

"Yeah, but what kind of condition will she be in when we find her?" Reid worried aloud.

Wilson didn't answer him, because they both already knew that it wasn't going to be pretty.

* * *

Alix was shivering and trying not to because every time she was wracked with those involuntary spasms her ribs flared with fresh agony. Better to just lie there quietly, passively, waiting for the next move in the dance. She'd been awake for awhile now. No amount of time spent looking at the pretty swirl of colors on the inside of her eyelids was going to make her fall back asleep. Her body wanted food, stomach cramping and growling, and wouldn't let her rest until she'd satiated it.

Her last meal had been lunch before the kidnapping. She was on her way to make an info drop at the designated spot, but they'd jumped her outside the apartment building, dragged her around the side to the parking lot. She-Hulk had cut off her oxygen until she passed out, and then they had probably tossed her into their vehicle. In her mind's eye, Alix went over the parking lot again and again, identifying the cars until she came across one that stuck out in her memory: a cargo van with a logo on the side. What was it? An internet service, Alix thought as the image of a computer beaming a signal in blue decals struck her.

When she thought about it some more—and she had plenty of time to think, stuck as she was in a cage—Alix realized that she'd seen the van around before in the neighborhood. One day it was parked across the street for a couple hours, the next it was a few blocks down, and the day after that it was parked catty-corner to her building. "Fuck," she cursed and slapped her hand down on the mat. The vibration of the floor in her back made her wince. "Goddammit," Alix swore quietly and with venom. If she got out of this alive, she was going to take those fuckers' heads and shove them in a blender, and make UnSub Smoothie out of them.

Of course, a few hours after that Alix was just cursing herself because she should have realized they were surveying her. They were trying to get a sense of her routine so they'd know when to strike, and every day at quarter to four, she left her apartment and walked down the block to this little Indian-owned hookah bar, where she got an order of samosas, a chai latte, and the day's paper. She folded the paper accordingly—dog-ear the front for an all's well, leave the comics on top for danger, and take the sports section with her for an 'I've got 'em.' If Alix needed to include anything else, she tucked it inside the paper and left it on her table when she got up to leave.

Then Domino would get up from her designated spot—she seemed to prefer the hookah with the black eel on it and always ordered the strawberry-kiwi shisha—and sweep up the paper on her way out the door.

That one sure habit and the UnSubs had their opening. She'd never made it to the check-in that day.

Alix was lying on her back when she heard the sound of a door opening, and sneakers on concrete. She opened her eyes to find She-Hulk hovering over her. The other woman was wearing jeans and a muscle shirt, showing off her tanned skin and muscular physique. Alix shrank back further into the cage. It wasn't time for the next fight already, was it? There was no shock forthcoming from the wire walls to tell her to move, move now.

The woman smiled with her taped up nose, but it was more a bearing of teeth than anything else, a warning. She had something in her hands, a paper plate, and a cup. "You try anything, he gave me permission to kill you. Sit there like a good little bitch, and you get something to eat." Her voice was much like her appearance, pleasant but brutal, and in response to her words Alix sought to make herself a smaller target. She murmured quietly, "I'm sorry about your nose."

The woman scoffed as she set down the cup and opened the door to the cage, sliding in the plate of food and then the water cup. "Don't you worry about it; you'll get yours next time, you can bet on it." She relocked the cage and turned on her heel to stride away, but already in those all too brief moments Alix had learned more than before. The woman was the submissive one in this pair, and she took her frustrations with that out on her opponents. She wanted to be the big bad wolf, but the man wouldn't let her.

Pushing those thoughts to the back of her mind, Alix attacked her food—bologna on white bread, some sour cream and onion potato chips—but savored the water, drinking only half of it and saving the rest for later. It was too easy to make yourself sick, and she had no way of knowing if they would give her any more. She doubted it.

It was all about control.

* * *

Spencer had spent the majority of his life living in Las Vegas. He was intimately familiar with the Strip, the arts district, and all the other haunts. Most people didn't realize it when they came to Vegas, but the snippets of desert they saw in the city wasn't an accurate representation of the land itself. Most of the plants were imported from other climates, like the tall palm trees. It was hot, that was true, but to absorb the essence of Nevada one needed to leave the city lights behind.

He wondered then if he was so familiar with Vegas, then why did he feel like a sore thumb as he walked into the gym with Domino by his side? She grabbed his arm and smiled up at him, and Spencer belatedly congratulated himself for being right about the lip-stain. It was a deep red color that, when combined with her kohl-lined eyes, made her look incredibly seductive. Her hair was gelled up into lazy, asymmetrical spikes on top. When you paired that with a black mini-dress and heels, even Spencer sat up and took note. Morgan had at one point commented idly, "Damn, it's a shame you're gay."

Much to everyone's surprise, Domino laughed and shrugged her shoulders, "I got bigger balls than most guys. I think that's why I don't like 'em." She then tucked a small caliber handgun underneath her dress. Reid wasn't sure where it went and frankly, wasn't sure he wanted to know. Some female mysteries should remain just that—mysterious.

He was dressed up too in nicer dress pants, a crisp, white shirt, and his gun was hidden underneath a white jacket. Whoever had picked out his clothing had also included a shiny pair of wingtips. Spencer felt positively Rat Pack-esque. According to what he could hear on the earwig, Farmer was in position, as were Morgan and Seaver. Rossi and Hotch were in there somewhere too. They had the place packed with Feds and undercover cops, the foremost thought on everyone's mind being 'don't get made.'

Though the fight itself was casual, off the books, Reid noticed that the majority of the audience was dressed as he and Domino were, like they were high rollers pulled out of the casino. The two of them sat on the bleachers and as instructed, Spencer placed a small bet on one of the fighters. It would help them blend in better.

In a most sickeningly sweet baby-doll voice, Domino said to him, "Excuse me, sugar, but I need to use the little girl's room." She kissed his cheek as she sashayed by him. It was timed perfectly so the fight would start, and people's attention would shift to the ring, allowing Domino to take up her post at the back of the room and scan the audience from a different perspective. Seaver was going to split off of Morgan using a similar tactic and take the other end of the crowded gym. Hopefully, they'd catch something. If this guy was after the best, then he'd be here, right?

Somehow he would give himself away, maybe by acting a little too interested in the fight, maybe by holding up a camera to record the fight or a cell phone—which was strictly not allowed—or maybe, god he hoped so, Marie Coolidge would show up with him.

The bell rang, and the fighters jumped in the ring, a young black woman with short dreads pulled back into a thick ponytail, and a Caucasian woman with bottle-blonde hair. In his ear he heard Seaver quietly confirm her location. Surreptitiously, he looked until he spotted her, and then he trained his eye to the crowd, watching the faces raptly absorbing the hard punches and swift kicks on the mat, categorizing the men into 'possible matches' and 'discard' piles.

"I've got a possible," Rossi murmured, "My three o' clock, guy in the brown sport coat." Reid located Rossi thirteen degrees left of the glowing, red exit sign, then found the man. "Negative," Reid murmured, "His attention keeps wandering. Our UnSub would be mesmerized."

"My ten?" Domino asked.

After considering the man, Reid agreed, "Keep an eye on him."

"Yep."

It was a tedious process and Reid was beginning to think that maybe he wasn't there, maybe he was too preoccupied with Alix. Maybe he was broadcasting his next show as they were sitting there doing fucking nothing.

Then he saw Marie Coolidge slide into the stands. She'd layered a lot of make-up on her face and most of the swelling had gone down, but her eyes were still bruised. Her nose had been set, but there was still some swelling in the bridge. She was wearing a pinstriped skirt suit, a white blouse, and black pumps. The outfit effectively hid the majority of her muscularity, and a little pink lip-gloss made her look softer, younger. Nobody would look at her like that and think 'killer.'

But he saw her eyes as she watched the fight, leaning forward in her seat. Her teeth set into her lower lip as she bit back a grin, watching the black girl pin the blonde face-first on the mat and use her hair as a lever, bringing her head up high enough to get an arm around her neck in a choke hold. As he watched, he saw her slide her hand over and grip another's tightly.

Reid spoke quietly into his mic. "I've got Coolidge in the stands. My ten o' clock, black pinstriped suit. She's with a man."

The locals jumped the gun, pulling out weapons and shouting, "LVPD, freeze!" Reid watched in horror as the crowd began to scream and run. In the chaos, Marie punched an officer in the face and run out the emergency exit, quickly getting lost in the crowd. The man she was with was about to follow her, but something in Reid sat up and said, 'oh, fuck no.' It sounded suspiciously like Alix.

Before he knew it, Reid was running over the bleacher seating and took a flying leap off of it, tackling the other man to the ground. The other man had muscle and weight on him, but Spencer had the advantage of leverage and gravity, and he utilized them ruthlessly until Morgan showed up behind him with a pair of cuffs.

"Nice take-down, kid," he said later on as they were watching the man—now identified as Randall Gaines—be bundled into a police vehicle. They'd follow and question him at the station. The Federal building wasn't equipped to hold suspects.

"Yeah," Spencer mumbled, rubbing his sore wrist. He'd jammed it somehow in the middle of his ninja tackle—which he was totally going to tell Alix about because she would laugh hysterically—or pulled a tendon, popped a blood vessel… Something like that; anyway, it hurt.

"I mean it," Morgan said and clapped him on the shoulder, "He would've gotten out if you hadn't pulled that stunt. I didn't know you had it in you."

"That makes two of us," Reid stated, and he grinned wryly. Morgan smiled back.

"Come on, kid, let's go find your girl." Spencer suppressed the hope that tried to spring up in his chest. They weren't out of the woods just yet.

The station was in full swing when they walked through the door and met up with Farmer and Rossi, who were trading stories over coffee that had sat way too long on the burner. Even knowing that, Reid was tempted to have a cup. If he could find enough sugar to put in it, he wouldn't be able to taste anything else…or maybe…

Just then Domino and Seaver walked in the station together each carrying trays of Starbucks coffee cups. Seaver was blushing while she balanced one tray in her hands, and Reid wondered if Domino had hit on the young agent. His guess was further reinforced by the way Seaver kept throwing sidelong glances at the brunette, as though she was expecting the spunky agent to spontaneously grow a second head...perhaps with lizard scales. For her part, Domino didn't seem to notice Seaver's awkwardness, or she just didn't care. Instead she handed him and Morgan a cup of coffee, then passed off the other two to Rossi and Farmer. "Don't drink that swill," she ordered off-handedly and took one of the cups from the second tray for herself. "So where are we on this Gaines guy? He talking?"

"We haven't even gotten that far, D," Farmer told her, "Hotch and Wilson are talking to the station cops, tying off the bureaucratic end of things, thanking them for their valued assistance…blah, blah, yak, yak."

"Tch," she responded, "Let me at him. I'll have him telling me his entire life story in an operatic like _that_." Domino snapped her fingertips together, producing a high, loud _pap_.

Just then Hotch and Wilson came out of the station chief's office. They watched as the three men stood at the doorway and shook hands. It was Wilson who extricated himself first, walking over with a rolling gait that reminded Reid of boats and sea legs. Maybe Wilson was a sailor. "I'd give you a gold star if I had any stickers," he rumbled as Domino handed him a large cup of coffee. She chuckled. "I'm not one of your kids."

"Hell if you aren't," Wilson grumped good-naturedly, "I spend more time refereeing squabbles here than I ever did with my own kids." Both Farmer and Domino had the good grace to look at least a little sheepish about that as the unit leader turned to Reid and politely let him in on the joke. "My wife had this chart when my kids were growing up to encourage good behavior. They got gold stars when they did something good, like their daily chores or really good grades or being good at the store. When they did something bad, a star was taken away. Once you earned ten stars, you got a reward. Most of my kids—I've got four—went with allowance money, but it could also be traded in for something else, like a one-time-only three-hour curfew extension, or maybe we'd let them go see a movie that we normally wouldn't let 'em watch. Stuff like that. My wife instituted it. My only job was to comply."

Reid chuckled and said, "Sounds like a good behavioral conditioning system to me."

Farmer laughed and told him conspiratorially, "Yeah, so he always jokes that he's going to get Junie to make up a chart for us too."

A strange relief seemed to be welling up in the agents, though Reid tried to tell himself that it wasn't really over yet. Yes, they had the UnSub in custody, but Marie Coolidge had managed to evade being taken into custody and Alix was still wherever they were keeping her. There was no way to know if she had access to food or water, or if she was safe. Granted, on camera they had shown her being held in a cage attached to the fighting ring, but the UnSubs could have easily moved her after they filmed the show.

But there was still that sense of a job well done that came with having the UnSub in custody. It left them all a little giddy, a little lightheaded: high on the taste of victory within reach.

When Hotch joined them, his serious countenance restored the mood and brought back the gravity of the situation, at least it did for Reid. "The local police have put Gaines in Interrogation Two. Dave, I'd like you to take round one." As a courtesy he asked Wilson, "Is that acceptable to you?"

Wilson shrugged. "I don't have a problem with it. The less exposure for my agents, the better. We primarily function as an undercover unit."

"I've wondered about that," Rossi began, "That's rather unique for an F.B.I. division to be dedicated solely to undercover work."

"Yep," Wilson agreed, "I think that's why I got stuck with a bunch of cowboys for agents. You have to possess a certain mentality to do this job, just like you gotta have a particular way of thinking over at the BAU. I guess the brass decided to form this unit to fill in some of the gaps they were noticing. We have a lot of the suits at the Bureau, and not enough flexible thinkers. I think that's the reason why so many agents are fucking shit-terrible at going undercover. They can't bend." After a moment's pause, the older agent grinned wolfishly. He glanced at Farmer and sniggered. "One of Greg's old covers was gay."

Farmer groaned and rubbed a hand over his face. "You had to bring it up, didn't you?" To the entire group he revealed, "Domino and Alix called me 'Bear' for almost an entire year after that case."

"Oh my god," Domino crowed and punched Farmer in one of his humongous biceps. Reid doubted the guy felt it at all. "I forgot all about that! That's it, it's revival time. Bear. Bringin' it back." She started laughing to herself. Seaver took one look at Farmer and started giggling too, though she at least made the attempt to be polite and hide her mirth behind an upraised hand. Morgan just shook his head, smiling. "That's rough, man," he said sympathetically. Farmer just shrugged. "It's not like I had to bend over or anything. Everything was copacetic until the tea party. Then it got a little awkward." Domino started guffawing at the mention of the tea party until she was doubled over, clutching at her stomach.

"Tea party?" Reid couldn't resist asking.

Farmer and Wilson shared a glance and both shook their heads at him. "You don't wanna know," Wilson stated at the same time Greg said, "It's a long story. Not really the appropriate time or place."

"Interesting," Rossi murmured and finished up his coffee. "Well, I should get in there."

"I'll observe," Reid volunteered quickly, and Farmer was right behind him.

"I'd like to be in there too."

"Alright," Hotch agreed, and the four of them moved toward Interrogation.

"I'll stay here and guard the coffee," Morgan called. Reid heard Domino and Seaver laughing behind them. There was a bit of a scuffle, playful jostling, and Wilson grumbling, "Am I going to have to get out my ref whistle?"

* * *

Being forced to stay seated for four days was taking its toll on Alix. The cage wasn't even tall enough for her to stand; she could only get to her knees before she hit the top of it. Her muscles were cramped, her ribs ached with every breath, and when she lay down to stretch out everything just seemed to hurt more. She needed to get out of here.

With all the silence and stillness in between the upcoming fight, all Alix was capable of doing was feeling—feeling the pain of her injuries; it wasn't just her ribs, there were little pains everywhere. Her face felt swollen and hot, tender to the touch. She felt the urge to flee undercutting her forced calm, but she didn't want to give them that much. She didn't want to panic and scream, bargain, beg for mercy that she knew wasn't coming. There was only one way out of here, and it was death: hers or theirs. Alix felt sorrow, fear, uncertainty that she would die here at the hands of these monsters, die in front of thousands—whomever was watching on the other end of those cameras, die without ever having been brave enough to tell the people who mattered that they did. Mostly, she felt brittle and emptied out, a fragile glass waiting to be filled with whatever liquid the pourer brought. She needed action to react, an opportunity. Until then, she was suspended in this moment of useless inertia, waiting to find out what she should direct her energy, her emotions, her thoughts into.

The door on the far side of the room opened, and Alix wearily turned her head towards it, tracking the movement slowly. Now what?

The woman ran in. She actually looked rather nice that day…evening? Whatever. Pinstriped skirt suit, black pumps, hair curled a little to hide the chunk that was missing from her cartilage. She was even wearing make-up, Alix bet.

"Get up," she snarled as she stalked over the floor and shot up the small staircase, clutching something tightly in one hand.

Obediently, Alix sat up without comment. The Amazon was stalking across the springboard mat of the fighting ring now, her heels muffled by the material but not altogether eliminated. It produced a steady thump-thump-thump and Alix found herself breathing subconsciously in rhythm with it. Then, as the other woman drew closer to her, Alix could see that what she held in her hands didn't bode well for her at all.

A small remote was produced from her jacket pocket, like the universal garage remotes. The woman hit the button and the door to the cage began opening. Alix began to gather herself, to gear up for a fight, because this one was the last one.

One of them would be walking away from this, and the other one would cease to be.

* * *

Once the door closed on the observation room, sealing out all the merriment and gaiety of the other group's discussion, it was as though they had entered a vacuum. The atmosphere was abruptly tense as they stared through the one-way window into Interrogation Two at the face of the man who had taken Reid's girlfriend. Somewhere deep down in the abyss of his emotional core, Reid was furious. He wanted to rip, to destroy; to maim this man until he was nothing more than an empty husk of his current smirking self. He was suddenly grateful that Hotch had not asked him to go in there with Rossi, because he was aware that he'd never make it through the interview with his cool intellect as a shield intact.

There was too much riding on this moment. Too much depended on not screwing up, playing their cards just right. Rossi was their best bet; Hotch and Morgan came in a close second. But still, Spencer had never seen a man able to break down an UnSub quite like Rossi could. He just had a way about him. Like a heat-seeking missile, he targeted the weaknesses in others and picked away at them until the rotting core was exposed, until their secrets oozed out like pus from an infected wound.

"What do you think?" Farmer asked.

They had all been so quiet, contemplative, each locked in their own thoughts that Reid had nearly forgotten his presence. For such a large man, he certainly faded into the background easily enough.

"I think," Rossi began, "That we're looking at a common sociopath, possibly with narcissistic tendencies. Notice how he's not nervous at all."

"No," Reid agreed, "He appears relaxed."

"Smug," Farm added.

"Yes," Reid echoed, "Smug, like he knows something we don't."

"Let him think that," Hotch said to Rossi, "Stroke his ego. He'll respond to that."

Rossi nodded his head in agreement. "Here goes." Turning, the older agent headed towards the door and slipped out. A moment later the three of them watched as he entered into the interrogation room, closing the door behind himself casually and walking over to the only empty chair. He settled into his seat and made eye contact with the UnSub, then let his gaze rove over him like he was taking stock. When his eyes met Gaines' once more, Rossi made it clear that he'd found the man wanting. It would prick the other's pride and make him strive to prove himself, hopefully tipping him towards giving away some important detail.

Randall Gaines was thirty-seven and worked as a computer expert at an electronics store. His job was to respond to the emergency 'make my computer work' calls at other people's homes. According to his boss, he showed no interest in moving up the corporate chain of command. In fact, his only passion seemed to be computers. Nobody had even known about Gaines' interest in ultimate fighting, nor the fact that he apparently had a partner of sorts in Marie Coolidge. He kept to himself at work, but was charming enough when necessary.

Physically, he was fit, and his clothes said that he was vain enough to care about his appearance. He wasn't a fighter like Coolidge though. He could try but eventually experience would win out over brute force. His hair was brown and just beginning to silver at the temples, and his goatee was neatly trimmed.

It wasn't his physical appearance they were interested in though. The shell was unimportant. It was what lurked beneath that well-groomed exterior that they wanted to expose.

Maintaining eye contact, Rossi began the interview. "I'm Supervisory Special Agent Rossi with the F.B.I. Do you know why you're here?"

The killer shrugged. "No, sir, I don't. Can you please explain?"

"You are here because I'm with a unit of the F.B.I. known as the Behavioral Analysis Unit, and we were called to Las Vegas to consult on a case involving the disappearances of fighters from illegal fighting circuits. Based on our profile and the fact that you were holding Marie Coolidge's hand at the fight, we've brought you into custody."

"Marie? What does she have to do with this?" The man affected an innocently quizzical expression, but Rossi could see through it to the note of wrongness. His facial muscles were making all the right movements, but his eyes were still empty.

Rossi's lips twitched upward in the birth of a wry grin, then settled back to stillness. "Marie Coolidge was caught on camera beating these women to death. Then again, you already knew that. After all, you're the one who filmed it; put it up on the web for other sick fucks like you to bet on the outcome."

"I'm sorry, but—" Gaines drew a shaky breath and turned away, affecting shock, "—I have no idea what you're talking about. Marie…Marie killed them? Are you sure?"

"Oh yes," Rossi murmured, "We're sure. Just as sure as I am that you're her partner. You see, she has to have a partner. There's too many camera angle changes in the tape for it to be done automatically. Especially since it was filmed and broadcast live. I know. I've got you."

"Agent Rossi," Gaines was trying not to smirk but failing, "You don't have anything but some psycho-babble and me holding my date's hand at a fight."

"An _illegal_ fight," Rossi corrected, "Which means I can hold you here as long as I want in questioning."

"But you don't have forever," Gaines said. Then after a minute pause he asked, "Do you? Marie got away. She could, at this very moment, be hiding the evidence of her crimes and vanishing from sight. She's done it before; she could easily escape again."

"How did you know she's done it before?" Rossi pounced on the innocuous information. "You knew of her criminal record, yet you still took her to an illegal fight where the police could raid it at any moment? That's not a very caring date."

"Marie told me her past. We don't have any secrets." The look on his face then could only be labeled self-satisfied.

"None?" Rossi reiterated carefully.

"None." The other man's grin faltered as he saw Rossi began to smile, then laugh.

"Good," Rossi chortled, "I didn't think so. You two must have a very…satisfying relationship." Gradually, he sobered, but noticed that his inappropriate laughter had done the trick. Gaines wasn't pleased. He didn't want to be seen as a source of amusement, not to Rossi or anyone. He thought of himself as the all-knowing, the big kahuna, and definitely not a joke. His lips were pressed together tightly as he ground out, "We both get what we need."

"Of course, you do," Rossi soothed, "Two psychos stroking each other's…egos." A slight sneer emerged on his face. "Do you beat the meat while she beats _them_? Is that the only way you can get off?"

At this, Gaines grew visibly angry and barked, "You know nothing. Less than nothing! What Marie and I have is a partnership. She does the deed, but I'm the one in control! She only goes as far as I let her!" His hands slammed on the table top, but Dave never flinched, didn't move back at all. He merely blinked and seemed to settle further into his position, unmoved. Randall breathed heavily through flared nostrils, but closed his eyes, focusing on calming himself. As he did so, Rossi stated smugly, "Thank you for your confession. Now to get down to the nitty-gritty."

* * *

Alix inched forward out of the cage, keeping her gaze locked on her enemy the entire time. There wasn't anything else she could do. If she sat in the cage in the hopes it would protect her, the other woman would have the advantage of maneuverability. She'd easily be dragged out or the woman could reach in with the object in her right hand and not even bother with taking her on her feet. Better to stand now while there was still some distance between them, while the psycho bitch was still stalking across the ring at her.

She tried not to wince as feeling started to rush back into limbs gone pins-and-needles, hurriedly trying to shake some life back into them an instant before the other woman swung out with her curled fist and Alix was forced to dodge back faster than her ribs could handle. She stumbled away, gasping out her pain and grabbing automatically for those ribs that felt like they were grinding against each other. What she wouldn't give for an adrenaline rush right about now.

"Stupid bitch!" the woman cursed and swiped again, the light glancing off of the sharpened steel edge of the blade that was otherwise finished in matte black. Alix wasn't fast enough that time and the knife caught her across the forearm curved around her middle.

"Wait!" she shouted, stumbling back, "What about the fight? I thought there was supposed to be another show!"

"No!" the fighter shouted, "Randy got arrested! Now it's just you and me, babe, and you know what that means, don't you?"

Alix shook her head slowly, pacing backwards, trying to put more distance between them. The Amazon woman followed her steps, so for every two she gained, Alix lost one more when the other woman moved.

"It means it's time to tie up loose ends and move on." She surged forwards, and Alix shifted her stance, swinging out with her leg in a roundhouse kick.

* * *

"Where do you take them?" Rossi asked with his fingers steepled in front of him. "You must have a building around here, but we've already run your records, there's nothing listed in the way of property ownership or rental. You have a two-bedroom apartment, a company van, and an older model Civic. How the hell can you afford to buy a building on a computer tech's hourly wage?"

Having accepted that the jig was up, Gaines shrugged his shoulders inside of his navy sport coat. "I make more than enough off the bets."

"Ah, yes, the bets… We're working on tracking down that money as we speak," Rossi told him, and the UnSub frowned.

"You won't find it," he said, "I designed that run-around, and I'm a computer genius. You'd need someone better than me…and that's not possible."

Inside the observation room, Spencer murmured quietly, "Au contraire, vous douleur dans le cul." _On the contrary, you pain in the ass._

Morgan poked his head in the door at that moment, and his next words gave Spencer thoughts of deities and faith, images of kneeling down in prayer and shouting 'hallelujah!' He wasn't a believer, but in that moment he almost thought of converting. "Garcia's got the bank. It's Nevada State. She's hacking the account now. Apparently, it's in the name of 'Marie Gaines.'" He held the phone up to his ear again. "We got a location. Pull Rossi out of there. Let's move."

Spencer was the first person out the door, Alix's name running through his mind like a chant.

_Alix. Alix, hold on. Just wait a little while longer, Alix. I'm coming. Alix, I love you. Please hold on._

* * *

The kick landed but lacked power, and the woman was able to recover herself after grunting and stumbling. Once she'd caught her breath back, she just seemed to grow angrier. "Come on, lay down like a good little bitch and die!"

"Fuck you," Alix spat—literally—at the woman's face.

As the woman swiped at the spittle with a disgusted look on her face, Alix was suddenly aware that she was going to be charged. There was a subtle shift in the woman's stance as she brought one leg back a little further in preparation of pushing off against the floor. Shit.

She watched intently for the instant when She-Hulk would begin her movement, and the second she felt it, Alix let herself flow forwards like an arrow shot from a bow. She met the charge with her own body, surprising her opponent as she reached for the hand that held the knife with both of hers, and they went down in graceless tangle of limbs.

Alix screamed as the pain burst through her mid-section, but didn't let go of the wrist that held the knife. She felt the other woman bearing down with all her might, but Alix held her at bay and got her legs around the woman's middle, high up so that when she twisted hard, Alix came up on top—kind of. It was awkward since she was half on top of the other woman, half slumped on the ground, legs wrapped around her like a marmoset. The angle was strange, but a little better than the one she'd had before, allowing for more leverage on the knife. Even better, her opponent had to work harder, aiming up at Alix. She'd never been more thankful for gravity.

Arms up high, Alix whipped her head back and then forward again, slamming her forehead against the woman's weakened nose. She heard it break again, and the woman yelled and cursed her, and tried biting the fleshy underneath of her arm. It hurt like a bitch, but wasn't anything vital so Alix hung on grimly and took the dental imprint in her flesh. It was bleeding, bruising, and was sure to hurt terribly later. When the woman finally released her arm in favor of a gasping breath—she probably couldn't breathe very easily through her twice-broken nose-Alix slammed her elbow on top of the vicious woman's head.

It brought the knife an inch closer to sliding home in her skin, but Alix thought it worth the risk if her opponent was now dazed. "Ung," the woman grunted, her teeth clicked together, and a moment later she spat out bloody saliva at Alix. "Payback," she smiled grimly and pushed up with her arms shaking from the strain of it. Alix locked her elbows and applied more force, but the spit running down the side of her face was distracting her—truly disgusting-and blood from her arm was sliding onto their joined hands, making her grip slippery. Her hands slid as she twisted her face to rub her cheek against the strap of her dirty, blood-spattered camisole. The tip of the knife plunged into her chest just underneath her collarbone, just an inch, maybe an inch and half of that dark blade. Alix cried out and bore down to force it out, to force it back to the ground. However, the movement had forced her arms to give at the elbows and without that added support it was a battle the whole way. It was strange because she felt the exact moment the tip slid out of her skin—agony, fire, blackness rising up to swallow her down to a place where hurt didn't exist—and the minute stutter of every millimeter as she begged her body to cooperate with her, to persist in the struggle.

The other woman was squirming underneath her, legs moving, pushing off the floor in an attempt to dislodge Alix. She hung on grimly with tense legs and thighs, moving with the surges like a bull-rider. A particularly strong buck and twist of hips weakened her grip and that hard-won two inches of space between sharp object and skin was lost, and her opponent surged up in triumph, piercing her near her shoulder.

The new wound was much deeper than the last and messier. She felt it the instant the blade came out, having sliced another half-inch closer to her heart during the course of its exit, that this was a bad one. The blood poured out quickly, staining her top bright red, and Alix felt a sudden weakness in her arm. Something vital was damaged. Every beat of her frantic heart pumped out more precious liquid, making her skin slick and painting her like some kind of macabre tribal warrior down the front of her body.

Knowing that the fight had to end immediately because—goddammit!—she was bleeding out, going into shock, and already fighting off the pain from numerous injuries, Alix took a risk.

Shake the dice, blow on them for luck. Her mother used to say that when she was growing up.

She let go with her right hand—the weakened arm—and felt the other woman forcing the knife up again as Alix drove her heel in a vicious strike to the woman's injured collarbone. She screamed like nothing Alix had ever heard before, like some kind of dying velociraptor; broken, inhuman. Her arms went slack as those brown eyes glazed over with mind-numbing pain.

She struck again, fast, this time slamming against her enemy's wrist, driving her arms to the ground and listening for the satisfying snap of bone as her wrist bent back awkwardly. The woman's grip on the knife fell, and Alix snatched it up, flipping it over one-handed so the handle was hers.

The woman bared teeth at her as she raged, as tears formed in her eyes. Her free hand came up—uninjured, unarmed—but Alix was beyond stopping or mercy. The abyss was calling, her body cold. She felt detached, removed from the situation. All she saw was the continued movement, all she felt was the blood leaving her body. Death was calling for her and she wasn't ready to go yet. The fingers curled around her throat, and Alix brought the knife in her hand swinging horizontally, cutting the offending forearm in an imitation of her own wound and sliding right across the brunette-haired fighter's neck. It cut through her skin like warm butter, so smooth, so easy, and the bright red liquid held captive inside of her body sprang forth, emerging from that gruesome second mouth.

Alix flung herself onto the ground next to her torturer, rolling just far enough away to be out of reach.

As Marie Coolidge gurgled and died, and as Alix's body gave up the fight to stay aware, dimly the sound of splintering wood could be heard before she was swept away on a tide of peaceful, black oblivion.

* * *

Vests were on, guns were up.

Morgan and Farmer worked together to heave the battering ram at the side entrance. It was a rather plain building located in an area of the city that was filled with older businesses and factories. Brown, box-shaped, and small in comparison to its neighbors; but it had enough room to build an arena in it with its high-ceilings, and no one would notice a van coming in and out of the old loading bay. There wasn't much activity in this sector anymore, and the people that came around were busy working. These old buildings had been built a lot sturdier out here, made to keep the noises inside. What little leaked out was quickly muffled by the sounds of the machinery nearby.

The green door with its floppy strips of curled, peeling paint was the only thing standing between Reid and Alix. It was thick wood, securely locked and dead-bolted.

Reid adjusted his grip on his firearm and wiped his sweaty forehead on the rolled-up sleeve of his light blue shirt. He was anxious and ready to move, and the sun was beating down on them mercilessly from that angle between the building and its neighbor.

Two ambulances were already present, the paramedics on stand-by. Their presence made him feel itchy right underneath the hollow in his clavicle that Alix liked to kiss. She said it was the perfect shape for her lips. Maybe it was just more sweat. The muscles between his shoulder blades were knotted with tension. He'd barely slept the past few days and was constantly dealing with headaches or feeling one coming on. Reid knew the paramedics were necessary, but he didn't like having the constant reminder that Alix was hurt; that every second the paramedics stood there was another molasses-moment that she was in pain.

A heavy thud echoed down the alley as they made their first attempt at breaking down the door. The second was more successful as Reid heard a loud crack-crunch as the wood began to give way. The next pass sent the door splintering open, the broken door slamming into the wall behind it and swinging back. Morgan and Farmer stepped out of the way as Wilson, followed closely by Hotch, breached the portal first.

"F.B.I.!"

Reid was the fourth person in, dogging Rossi's heels and subconsciously trying to hurry him along on their room to room search. A short hallway with several old offices on either side, one of which was filled to the brim with brand-new computer equipment, led to another door that had been recently installed. The hinges were different from all the others, still shiny gold, fresh from the package. The rest were darkened with age.

The interior door had already been opened, and an all-clear given, shouted by whom he thought was Wilson but at the time he wasn't worried so much about that, he was focused on getting in there, on reaching his lover. He would have gone ahead even if the room hadn't been cleared. It was a scary thing to realize that later, that he would put himself on the line for Alix in a heartbeat.

The room was large and must have been the workroom back when the building was still a family-operated furniture business, but now it was dominated by a fenced-in fighting area. Wilson and Hotch were already in the cage, and Alix's superior knelt over her with a hand on her neck. "Get the paramedics in here!" he yelled, "And tell 'em to bring the goddamn stretcher!"

Behind him, he heard Domino take off for the entrance shouting for the medics. Reid broke into a run, dodging around Rossi so that he could take the stairs two at a time. He slid to his knees beside Alix, hands hovering over her uselessly. Wilson had his hands shoved against a heavily bleeding wound close to Alix's shoulder—the subclavian artery; Reid's mind identified it automatically. The relief of finding her tangled and tripped up with the panic of watching her blood rise up between Wilson's meaty fingers. "Oh, god," he heard himself whisper, but it was a distant thing to him. His gun was left unattended on the smeared springboard floor—smeared from where Alix had dragged her body across the floor, away from the corpse- forgotten in the wake of everything else. Shaky hands touched Alix's bruised face. Her skin, which was normally close to the same shade as his own, was markedly paler where it wasn't speckled with violets, yellows, and greens. Blood loss, he thought, as Wilson adjusted his pressure.

It brought her around briefly, groaning, eyes fluttering just enough that he could catch the tiniest hint of her spring green irises. "Alix," he murmured, "Alix, it's me, it's Spencer. You're okay now. You're safe."

"Spence?" Her voice cracked.

"Yeah," he replied, his voice flooded with emotion. Spencer blinked because his eyes were stinging and there was pressure and tightness behind them. His vision was blurry. Long-suppressed tears started to slip down his cheeks.

"Hurts," Alix stated.

The paramedics ran into the room, two of them pushing a gurney between them, and the other two coming ahead with gear bags. Domino followed behind them. Their feet pounding over the spongy floor made Alix give a shocked, little gasp, and pass out again.

"You have to move," someone said to him, and Spencer bared his teeth at them. "Sir, please."

Morgan touched his shoulder sympathetically. Spencer turned to give him the same look, but stopped when he saw Morgan's face. "Come on, kid," the older man said, "Let 'em do their job. They're just trying to help." A gentle tug on his shoulder suggested that he back up, and Reid allowed it, shuffling back on his knees. He grabbed his gun as an afterthought and holstered it.

The medics surrounded Alix, blocking him out, blocking them all out of sight of what they were doing to Alix so that she could live. They brought a back-board after examining her, shifting her carefully onto it. No matter how cautious they were though, it brought her back around with a small scream. At first she tried to fight them off, fists flailing wildly. One of them restrained her and shouted, "Ma'am, please stop. We're EMTs. We are just trying to get you to the hospital." Her struggles subsided, though Spencer stepped a little closer every time she whimpered. Somehow, he'd stood up, but he couldn't remember when. Everything in him was focused on the woman before him, his woman.

They had to take her out manually. The cage door wasn't wide enough to get the gurney through. The four of them had to hold her above their heads, strapped to the board, and carefully shift her over the staircase. Spencer was reminded of old movies and their dramatized pagan sacrifices.

Outside they put her in the ambulance. Hotch nudged him from behind. "Go," he said.

Spencer went.

* * *

It was bright. She saw that much from underneath her eyelids. Wherever she was, it was very bright. So light, in fact, that it made the edge of her eyelids appear red. Cautiously opening her eyes, Alix looked around the room. Sea foam green curtain suspended from a track embedded into the ceiling pushed off to one side, taupe cabinets, sink in the corner, multi-tonal beeping…she was in a hospital.

Her eyes closed again, feeling like they were weighed down with anvils. Tiny anvils. Elf-sized anvils. Damn elves.

When they opened again, there was a doctor chafing her arm, the one not wrapped in a bandage. His pseudo-soothing voice implored her to wake up. Alix growled at him. Literally. She was not a fan of being woken up.

Behind him, she heard Spencer chuckle. "I told you she doesn't wake up nicely."

Alix wrenched her arm away from the doctor and hissed in pain as the movement pulled something high in her shoulder.

"Easy," the doctor said, "We just spent hours patching you up. Don't tear your stitches."

"Then fucking move," she barked and batted at his side weakly until, with a sigh, he stepped aside. There was Spencer sitting in the hospital recliner. He looked rumpled and tired, and he was still wearing his gun. That was kind of sexy. Alix thought about it for a minute. Was it weird she thought that was sexy? Probably. Oh well. Having Spencer in the room with her and knowing that he had a gun on his person made her feel safe.

"Hi," she smiled wanly.

"Hi," Spencer smiled back. His wasn't wan, but was a little lackluster around the edges.

"You're here," Alix stated unnecessarily. Well, duh, of course he was there. She could plainly see that. Some part of her was still surprised at it though; surprised and pleased.

"Yes," he agreed with an amused half-smile, "Now let the doctor examine you."

She frowned, but sank back into the mattress and waved the doctor closer. Sometime during the deep breaths—that ached only in a vague, uncomfortable sort of way; yay for morphine—her eyelids drooped and she fell back asleep.

It was nighttime when Alix opened her eyes again, and the only light on in the room was the dim reading lamp over the dry-erase board listing her room number, RN, and aide for that shift. She looked automatically for Spencer, and found him asleep in the recliner, his feet kicked up. The circles underneath his eyes were darker than usual; she could tell that even in the mostly dark room. He looked so _good_ though—so vital and necessary and _real_—that it made Alix yearn to get up out of bed and crawl up in the chair with him. They were both slender enough to fit if she sat mostly on his lap. The doctors probably wouldn't approve of that though.

But she was lonely and a little frightened as the emotional effects of the past however-many days started to catch up to her. She didn't want to be stranded in this stupid bed with needles in her arms and stitches in her skin. Her ribs were wrapped, squeezed tightly, and the sheets were rough against her bare ass. Alix remained firmly convinced that hospital gowns were designed to humiliate the patients into submission.

Her breath was speeding up, heart rate accelerating—some distant voice in the back of her head was chanting 'no, no, stay calm, you'll bleed out' even though the wounds were closed—and she was shaking. It wasn't until Spencer woke up calling out, "Alix?" that she realized she was crying. A nurse—or an aide—somebody in a smock came in the room, but Spencer waved them back out. By that time he had worked his way out of the chair and come to her bed side, reaching for her hand, the one with the I.V. in it. "What's wrong? Please tell me."

"I—" Her voice choked and broke off. She shook her head, and rubbed her needle-less hand over her cheeks, wiping away the tears. Her face only remained clear for a moment as more just seemed to keep springing out of her eyes. "I'm just…over—" Alix's voice cracked again like a pubescent boy's, and irritation flared up within her. "Overwhelmed," she finished.

"Kleenex," she demanded, waving futilely at the tray that had been pushed away from the bed and the little box of facial tissues on it.

"Okay," Spencer murmured and stepped away to push the tray close up on her other side. Alix reached out with her good hand and snapped up a square of white facial tissue, delicately blotting her cheeks and blowing her nose. "Garbage can?" She mumbled in a slightly watery tone of voice. One was obligingly presented to her then Spencer whisked it away once more.

"Are you okay?" he asked shifting anxiously from foot to foot. "Can I get you anything?"

Alix thought for a moment then nodded slowly. "Bring the chair closer," she requested, and waited until he'd pushed it over the four feet of Pergo floor separating them. "Hold my hand?" The words came out weaker than she'd intended.

"Of course," Spencer murmured as he resettled himself and took her I.V. hand very gently in his. His thumb made small circles over a bare patch of skin, and it made something in her chest squeeze tightly…like a hand around her throat, but on the inside.

"I killed that woman," she whispered shamefully.

"I know," Spencer replied, "But it's nothing she wouldn't have done to you, was going to do to you."

Alix's head bobbed up and down jerkily. She let herself be comforted by that, pacified with it. That she knew it to be true didn't make her own actions any easier to swallow though, but for now she could pretend. It was enough to be alive right then. Enough to hold her boyfriend's hand in the dim light and let her eyes close again, surrendering to more morphine-dreams.

As she let herself drift again, Alix made sure to say, "I love you, Spencer. Goodnight." This whole time it had bothered her that she'd never said it, that she might die without ever having said it.

His hand tightened on hers briefly as he said, "I love you too."

She took that with her into slumber and used it as a shield to fend off the nightmares she knew were lying in wait.

* * *

-FIN-


	7. Grilled

Spencer Reid Gets…

**Grilled**

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: Reid/OFC

Rating: R/NC-17

Warnings: references to past violence including child abuse, mention of drugs, angst, sex

Archive: Ask

Author: Lily Zen

* * *

Notes: Finally, the next story in the series! Sorry it took me so long. Hey, just a note. This story has some heavy content. It deals with Alix's recovery after being kidnapped and tortured. It also deals with some of her past. Also, as a final note, you should never use sex to solve your problems. It doesn't work. The problems are still there when you're done having sex. This is a highly dramatized story featuring fictional characters; we can bend the rules of reality a little here. But if you're having problems, the best way to solve them is to talk about them.

Disclaimer: Not mine, though Alix kind of is my own invention.

* * *

She was having nightmares again. They woke her up breathing heavily and shaking, and often the fear of them kept her from returning to bed. She spent a lot of time working on art projects and reading books, and a lot of money on coffee. Alix wasn't doing well, but she was fighting against admitting to it. The Bureau had her seeing a shrink—Spencer could only imagine just how lively (or rather not) those sessions were-and on a temporary leave of absence while her ribs healed.

He'd taken a couple of days off work when Alix first came home, and spent the time fetching and carrying. Only two before Alix glared at him—the pain meds made her grumpy—and said, "Your hovering is annoying me. Go to work." He didn't take it personally, but knew better than to fight her on it. Staying would only serve to focus her wrath on him more.

The next day, after making sure that Alix had everything she might need within easy reach. He pulled the violet curtains back, angling the TV so that she could see it from her 'room,' and he left.

She didn't call, so he returned to his apartment to do some work there. Spencer figured maybe it was best if they spent a little time apart before he went back to hovering needlessly. His cell phone rang at quarter after midnight, and Alix mewed pathetically, "I can't sleep. Come over? Please?"

The weeks of Alix's recovery were tumultuous and hard on them both. Spencer, already a light sleeper, woke every time Alix started twitching and making fear noises in her sleep. They were both tetchy and mainlining caffeine like nobody's business. Not exactly the romantic honeymoon phase Spencer had pictured after they declared their love for each other.

When she felt well enough to start driving again, doing her own shopping, going to her appointments… When she was less dependent on the meds to get through the day, then things started to improve bit by bit. Her mood started lifting, the frequency of the nightmares lessened, and both of them started getting more sleep. Things seemed to be getting back to normal between them at least as long as Spencer overlooked the occasional nightmare.

* * *

It was cold. Her limbs were covered with gooseflesh, though she was far too tired to engage in anything so pedestrian as shivering. She had no energy left. She slept when she could, when she thought the eyes in the stadium were closed, arms locked around her knees in the fetal position, careful not to brush the wire mesh that was now her womb.

The high-pitched screech of metal against metal made her eyes pop wide open, and suddenly there were cattle prods poking her in her back and thighs, forcing her closer toward the little opening.

A snarl reached her ears, and though she wanted to stop, she knew she could not stay. Already the voltage was increasing, the pain scraping down her nerve endings and back up to her brain where it resonated. Haltingly, the bitch crept out of her cage.

The ring was thronged with watchers, their eyes—blank, unblinking, brown irises—hovering in empty seats. They were hungry. They wanted blood.

She wanted to give it to them, the killer pacing the other side of the ring, her leather-and-metal chain gripped in the hands of a faceless trainer. Literally, faceless, an empty oval of blank skin where there should have been eyes, nose, mouth. The only one whose appearance was in vivid Technicolor was that of the Rottweiler on the chain, her brown hair yanked back in a severe ponytail, saliva dripping over her pink, lipstick coated pout as she bared her teeth in a rictus grin.

Fear zinged up her spine, and she quailed against the wire mesh where there used to be a tiny door to a semi-safe space.

The leash was slipped off, and the woman charged, her forward crawl unnaturally graceful and quick.

Hands on her chest crushing the life out of her—can't breathe, can't breathe—and teeth snapping at her throat. She began to bleed, and went for the soft underbelly lying exposed over her, clawing in desperation. Her nails became talons, little shovels, digging through skin, sliding through the sweet, wet insides. Still can't breathe, but the other bitch's strength was beginning to wane; ignoring the urge to gasp, holding in that last stale snatch of oxygen.

The monster collapsed, and she rolled them, yanking her claws out, red to the elbows.

She looked down, and began to howl, seeing not the rabid dog but her own countenance.

* * *

"Ah!" she yelped, flinging herself out of sleep and onto her elbows—they weren't red. Her ribs protested and the dark line of stitches on her chest pulled a little, but Alix paid them no heed, taking deep breaths to get her heart rate back under control.

Spencer's eyes had flown open the instant he'd heard her breathing begin to grown frantic, a small whimper piercing the still night air. He hadn't woken her up though, because a lot of the literature he'd read on nightmares and night terrors—and he'd been reading a lot lately—said that touching them could make it worse. He'd decided they were correct when one night he'd cupped Alix's shoulder in his hand, given her a little shake, and she had woken in a panic and slugged him in the stomach so hard that he was sore the next day. So he watched and waited for her to come to on her own, and gave her the courtesy of letting her find her composure in silence.

They both knew he was awake though. Alix was aware of just how light a sleeper Spencer could be, particularly without the exhaustion of an out of town case. She felt guilty because she knew her little episodes were disrupting his rest as much as hers. If she were a little less selfish she'd send him home to sleep, but his presence was soothing to her. She, as much as it pained her to admit it, had come to rely on him somewhere along the way. Not to chase the monsters away, because that was ridiculous. The monsters were in her head, and would fade only when they were good and ready, as she knew from prior experience. Alix relied on him to ease her back into slumber when the only thing else that would work as well were prescription drugs or a bottle of booze.

His voice was quiet, but non-intrusive when he asked, "Are you okay?"

Lowering herself back down, Alix sighed and answered the way she had always answered when he asked her that same question what seemed to be a million times already. "I'm fine."

Spencer said nothing, knowing that she needed the illusion, but also realizing that she was not fine.

Alix was one of those people whose motto in life was 'fake it 'til you make it,' and for the most part it worked very well for her.

He was beginning to think that maybe this time it might not be enough.

She reached over, feeling in the dark for his hands.

He accommodated her wish, sliding his palm along the sheet until his fingers connected with hers and tangled together. With a soft sigh, Alix tugged his arm along with hers until it slid over the ribbed cotton of the wife-beater she'd worn to bed, and he felt the familiar plane of her abdomen underneath his forearm. She shifted, raising the fabric of her tank top up a little, and tucked his hand underneath. She didn't want sex, somehow he instinctively knew that, and yet when he disentangled his hand and flattened his palm on her stomach, he heard the smile in the pleased little sound she let out. Her skin felt warm and sensual, her abdomen rising and falling lightly as she breathed. He traced a rough circle around her bellybutton with his pinky.

Alix smiled at the intimate touch, pushing away the dregs of her fear with his hands. She just wanted his hands on her; she wanted to be wrapped up in him. Normally when Spencer slept over she'd sleep on her side curled up against him, legs and arms sliding over him like a snake. It was her favorite way to fall asleep—sated and suctioned onto him like a barnacle on a boat. Unfortunately, her healing ribs kept her from sleeping comfortably on her side. She was forced to stay on her back as straight as a board; therefore she'd been silently giving Spencer instructions on how to cuddle properly ever since.

He scooted closer, sliding his head onto her pillow, and then down onto her shoulder when that wasn't quite comfortable enough. His breath fanned out over her collarbone, surprisingly warm. "I love you," he whispered as his eyes fell closed again.

Alix didn't say a word—the sound of her voice would wake him-but she grinned and thought them very hard, and took them with her back to the realm where Morpheus ruled, and made herself think of sweet, sugary things as she determinedly returned to sleep.

* * *

The leaves outside were turning colors. From the bird's eye view they appeared like great orbs balancing on the end of dark scepters, their gemstones mottled orange, red, and violets. The leaves that remained stubbornly green ruined the effect somewhat. They would be the last to fall, to pile on the ground only to be swept away like so much trash. Didn't leaves decay? And wasn't that good for the earth? Or did she have that wrong? Alix made a note to ask Spencer. He would know.

"Agent Blackwood?" The voice intruded on her quiet contemplation of the Virginian autumn.

She glanced up, and automatically raised her paper coffee cup to her lips, sipping the bitter brew through the opening in the plastic cap. It gave her time to re-focus, and she searched her mind for whatever the shrink had asked her last. Finally, she smiled politely, inwardly giving up. "Yes?"

The department shrink gave her a look that almost but not quite bordered on irritated. Alix was trying the woman's patience, which was unfortunate because she really wasn't trying to. She wanted to get approval and go back to work, to put her experience with kidnapping far, far behind her. The psychologist's brow smoothed with effort, and she schooled her features back to polite, friendly, interested neutrality, if such a thing was possible.

Debra Wilshire was an older woman in her fifties who had worked her way through school, her past jobs concentrating mostly around law enforcement. The daughter of an officer, she had known her entire life what she wanted to do, to help those people brave enough to defend them from themselves deal with the horrors and atrocities they witnessed people commit, and she had pursued it with single-minded drive and ambition until finally she had realized that goal. Wilshire was in her tenth year of service with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. The commemorative clock she'd received for her time was hanging on the wall of her office, the pendulum swinging hypnotically over her right shoulder.

Alix glanced at the clock, and then back at the woman seated behind the desk. At first Debra had tried to hold their sessions in the more comfortable sitting area behind them, the chairs fluffy and cream colored with a simple blue stripe, offered tea and coffee and snacks, anything she could think to lull the recalcitrant agent into speaking freely with her. It was Alix who looked at her and said, "We're not friends, and acting like we are isn't going to make me spill all my secrets to you. Please, let's conduct ourselves professionally and do this at the desk." Strangely, the strict definition of the desk separating her from the therapist did relax her a little. They were on opposing sides, the field agent and the bureaucrat.

She was a frustrating patient, like most agents tended to be.

"I was wondering how your week has been," Debra finally stated.

Shrugging, Alix said. "Fine. Since I last saw you I've only had one nightmare." That was a lie, but she told it without telltale signs, pulling on skills that kept her cover in the field.

The shrink's lips moved in a small approximation of a smile. Her mauve lipstick looked too thick and dark for that early in the day. Alix didn't think she'd appreciate the fashion advice.

"Good," the psychologist said, definitely seeming pleased, "That's good. The mind is a wonderful thing, isn't it? So resilient."

"Nothing keeps me down for long," Alix agreed flippantly.

"Nothing?" the shrink wondered, glancing down at her file, "What about when your mother left?"

Alix rolled her eyes. "That was a long time ago. I dealt with it and moved on."

"Do you…speak to her?" Debra asked.

"Not really," Alix admitted breezily. She took another sip from her coffee cup and turned slightly, using the other vacant chair on her side of the desk to prop her feet up.

The shrink's eyes followed her movement, narrowing in displeasure. However, the woman said nothing, still of the opinion that if she could just get Agent Blackwood comfortable that she would begin to open up.

"I think my mom is pretty pathetic," Blackwood told her, "We see each other every other Christmas, and that's enough."

"And your father?"

"Deceased, as I'm sure you can see in my handy-dandy folder," Alix shot back with equal casualness.

"Your father was a hard man to live with, wasn't he? Drank a lot?"

"I suppose," Alix hesitantly agreed. Her eyes narrowed as she wondered where the doc was going with this line of questions.

"Was he abusive?" Debra asked coolly.

With a little smile, the agent replied, "To me? No. Not any more than parents were back then. It wasn't considered abuse to spank your kids in those days. To my mother? Yes. He beat the crap out of her, would say the meanest things—he was a mean drunk. He destroyed her. Even after she left us, she never really recovered. You know what I mean? You must know what I mean. You're a shrink."

"I do," Debra agreed, "And did you ever witness this abuse?"

Shooting her a withering look, Alix stated, "Duh. We all lived in the same house, didn't we?"

"My point is this, Agent Blackwood," the psychologist began carefully. "Do you think that maybe witnessing these things at such an early age has something to do with your reaction to your recent ordeal?"

Alix said nothing, and merely looked at the shrink. The pendulum swung back and forth, and she followed its leftward curve to the window where the treetops looked happy and inviting. Time fell away.

Debra Wilshire sighed as the timer on her desk let out a discreet beep. "We're out of time this week, Agent Blackwood."

Standing up with care and precision, the woman with the short, dark hair smiled politely at her. "Same time next week then?"

Doctor Wilshire nodded and plugged her patient's name into next week's calendar. "I'll see you then, Agent Blackwood. Have a good day."

"You too," Alix waggled her fingertips flippantly over her shoulder as she strode out the door.

* * *

Her floor wasn't exactly empty, but it was definitely absent of anyone she would have wanted to speak to. Alix felt a surge of some complicated ball of emotion, but didn't bother to take it apart and examine its individual threads. One of the agents on the team they shared their bullpen with told her that her people were out in the field with a loaner. She suppressed a rude remark, thanked the man, and turned on her heel.

She caught the elevator just as the doors were sliding closed, slapping an arm in place to send the door springing back open. Alix offered the elevator's occupants a wan smile, and hit the button she wanted. As long as she was in the building, she figured she'd stop by the BAU and harass her boyfriend (which was still an incredibly weird thing to say even in her head—prior to Spencer she hadn't had a steady relationship in a few years). It was close to lunchtime, so there was always a chance that she could wrangle him into a mid-day date.

Stepping out on the floor the BAU was situated on, she padded through the glass doors, her flats hardly making a sound on the floor. Since she couldn't really bend all the way over that eliminated any shoes that required tying. That day she was wearing black flats and a bright blue miniskirt, the yellowing bruises on her legs displayed carelessly. To cover up her top half she had on a black top, the kind with the lace inlay in the back, displaying the upper most part of her bare back. Some of the more professional people (pretty much everybody except her) gave her some odd looks, but Alix didn't pay any attention. She'd long ago accepted the fact that she was an odd bird, the square peg trying to fit in a round hole. At least the good thing about being on leave was that she could wear whatever she wanted to. Yesterday she spent the whole day in leggings and a crinoline puff skirt _because she could, dammit_.

Spencer wasn't at his desk, but the cute little blonde girl, Seaver, was. Alix sat down at Spencer's desk and shot the girl a wide smile. "Hey, Seaver, right?"

"Yeah," Ashley looked up from her paperwork to smile. "Are you looking for Reid?"

Alix shrugged her shoulders. "Not actively. I'm reasonably sure that if I just stay here for a bit, he'll find me."

The blonde grinned. "It's nice to see him, you know, _with_ somebody. At first he kind of freaked me out."

Hazarding a guess, Alix asked, "Because he's monstrously intelligent?"

"Ah, yeah." The blonde blushed.

"And cute?" the brunette persisted with a grin and an eyebrow waggle.

Ashley laughed. "Only for all of five seconds until I got to know him. He's pretty sexually ambiguous. Around here, I mean."

"Like an amoeba?" Alix chuckled.

"Oh my god, yeah, or a flagellum. He just scoots around with his whip-tail spouting statistics." Seaver and Alix locked gazes for a moment before they began laughing hysterically.

"Flagellum," Alix gasped between giggles.

Ashley had her head down on her desk still chuckling. "I can't believe I said that."

"It was hilarious," the other agent told her matter-of-factly. "I'm glad you did. Ah," she slipped her glasses off for a second and wiped the tears from the corner of her eyes, "Totally awesome. Thanks for that."

"Not a problem." Seaver looked up, blue eyes turning serious as she analyzed the other woman. "You look good. Much better than the last time I saw you."

With a wry grin, Alix told her, "Thanks. It's the steady diet of pain pills."

The blonde chuckled.

Just then they both heard, "What are you two laughing about over here?" a second before a warm hand curved over Alix's shoulder and then slid inward, cupping the back of her neck above the lace on her shirt. Alix glanced back with a devilish glint in her eye.

* * *

"Hey, pretty boy, isn't that your girl?" Morgan asked as they walked back to the bullpen from Garcia's adjacent batcave.

Reid glanced up from the file in his hand. Sure enough there was the back of Alix's head, and the set of her shoulders. It was funny that he didn't even have to see her face to recognize her. He could pick her out in a crowded room just from the way she carried herself, that subtle challenge in her poor posture that read 'I don't have any fucks to give,' and the way her short hair revealed the nape of her neck, which admittedly he was fascinated with. She and Seaver were laughing about something, and Reid felt a grin tug his own lips upward.

"Yep," Reid agreed lightly, and he knew the look on his face must be a bit silly because Morgan had that look on his face that precipitated a teasing comment.

"Aw, look at the boy genius, all smitten with a bad girl," Morgan laughed and gave him a one-armed hug.

Spencer shot him a look.

The good-looking man grinned unrepentantly. "Hey, just messing with you."

"I know," Reid agreed with a hint of exasperation. "You know, I kind of thought that with Seaver joining the team that some of the teasing would get moved onto her."

"Reid," Morgan began, his face and voice utterly deadpan, "You should know by now that you're my favorite person to mess with. Nobody could ever replace you." His lips twitched, and then a smile broke out on his face.

Reid decided that would be a prudent point to walk away, but he did have a little smile on his face as he did so. It wasn't that he didn't mind the teasing—he did; it got annoying, and after all their years together he'd have thought that his team would grow out of it—but that he'd come to accept it. Their teasing him was a way of lowering the mythos of his intelligence to a more feasible height, of dragging him down to their level, and including him in their circle of camaraderie. He could accept it if it was only meant in jest.

"What are you two laughing about over here?" Spencer asked as he approached Alix from behind, his hand settling over her shoulder. It gravitated back to her neck automatically though, enticed by the sweet vulnerability of it as she dipped her chin just so and the edges of her hair rose up a little higher.

She turned ever so slightly, not enough to dislodge his palm, but enough so that their eyes met and he could see the curving of her lips as she smiled in greeting. "Nothing much," Alix began saucily, "Just flagellum."

Raising his eyebrows, Reid replied, "Flagellum?"

Alix nodded firmly. "Flagellum."

Seaver spluttered and got up from her desk, turning a little red in the face as she stated, "Well, it was nice talking to you, Alix. I'll, uh, see you around."

"Bye, Ashley. Oh, hey," Alix paused, and Seaver froze mid-turn, shooting her a curious look. "Domino was wondering if you're single."

The blaze that heated Ashley's face was certainly interesting, Reid noted idly. "I, uh, I'm not…that is…" Seaver tripped over her own words.

Alix shrugged. "Hey, you don't have to explain it to me. Domino's got a way about her. She attracts the bi-curious." There was a little smile playing at the edge of her mouth that she was trying to suppress.

"I'm not gay," Ashley finally hissed.

"Yeah, I know," Alix agreed coolly, "But that doesn't mean…" She shook her head. "Look, it's none of my business. Domino thought you were cool though, and I wanted to pass on the message."

"That's…" Seaver shifted nervously, and cast worried blue eyes on Spencer.

He shrugged and told her, "It's none of my business either. As far as I'm concerned, this conversation isn't happening."

Apparently that was just the thing to ease her mind, because Seaver turned back to Alix and said, "She's cool. If…if she wants to be friends—_just _friends—that'd be nice. Tell her she can, um, e-mail me, and we'll make plans." With that Ashley took a deep breath, turned on her heel, and fled into the break room.

Alix glanced at her retreating back then tipped her head up to lock eyes with Spencer. "I give it a month, maybe a month and a half."

"Before?" Reid prompted.

"Before Domino gets her in bed," his girlfriend replied cheekily. When she started shifting in his chair, her legs uncrossing and feet planting on the ground, Spencer gripped the back automatically to keep it from rolling as she got up. The last thing she needed was for the chair to slide abruptly and torque her healing ribs. "So," Alix began as she stood up carefully, "What are you doing for lunch?"

"Ah," he winced, "Sadly, I don't have time. Morgan and I ate with Garcia in the tech-cave. I only have fifteen minutes left of my break."

"Oh," her face fell a little. "Well, I should have called ahead," Alix continued brightly, and with a little shrug.

"I can walk you to the parking lot," he offered, and then chuckled. "We can stop at the coffee vendor for a five minute date."

Alix wiggled the cup in her hand, sloshing the liquid contents within. Then, thoughtfully, she took a little sip and grimaced. "Yeah, this is cold. Sounds good. Five minute date it is." She slipped her arm through his, and just when he thought she was about to lean in and kiss him she paused, cocking her head to the side. "Why is it whenever I come up here your team stands around eyeballing us?"

Spencer glanced around the bullpen noticing that Seaver and Morgan were hovering in the doorway to the break room, and Hotch and Rossi were talking out on the catwalk, and Garcia appeared to be sneaking in the door. He frowned. "I guess it's like naturists observing the mating habits of duck-billed platypi."

Much to his surprise, Alix chuckled and cooed, "Aww, that's so sweet, baby. How did you know my favorite animal was the platypus?"

Laughing abruptly, they began walking toward the door, her arm sneaking around his waist. "Maybe," Spencer drawled, "it was the framed poster of a platypus in your living room. Besides, it seemed apt."

"We are odd, I suppose," Alix agreed lightly as they stepped onto the elevator together, disentangling just enough that the other occupants weren't disconcerted by their closeness. They were already eyeing Alix's decidedly not Fed-appropriate clothing. Spencer fought the urge to stick his tongue out at them, and concluded that Alix was a bad influence on his behavior if he was actually considering doing such a thing.

They hit the lobby, and Alix stepped off the lift quickly before people started brushing past her. They didn't walk holding hands through the high-ceiled, expensively tiled area. It was lunch time so the floor was busy with foot traffic, and neither of them wanted to make a display of their relationship, particularly not in front of perfect strangers. It was only when they were outside, having pushed through the great wall of glass doors, that Alix reached for him. The crowd thinned out, the sea of corporate casual busybodies heading toward their destinations. The line at the coffee cart was huge, but they waited anyway, chatting about the weather, their plans for the day, and a History channel special that Alix had seen early that morning about Hitler's mistress which of course led to a rousing discourse related to the topic…which then strayed from the topic and into a more general discussion on women being attracted to powerful men, even if they were assholes.

Their conversation drew chuckles from some of the people standing in line with them, but neither of them paid much notice to it. Spencer had a tendency to do that when Alix was around. Her own uncaring attitude of what people thought of her rubbed off on him, and he found that he was less self-conscious in her presence. It helped that when he spoke she actually understood what he was talking about, and never ever looked at him like he was 'that weird smart kid.' It was easy to get lost in the rhythm of their dialogue, even as he was noticing that her eyes looked particularly green today and huge. He suspected it had something to do with the dark eyeliner she was wearing, and the touch of violet glitter he could see sparkling at the corners.

They got their coffee, and Alix threw out her old cup as they headed toward the parking structure. "It's a biological imperative, Spencer," she was arguing, "A holdover from our evolution. In the past, of course females would have wanted mates that were strong and commanding. Their genes would be the best ones to pass on."

"I'm not arguing with that," Spencer agreed placidly as they took the parking lot elevator up, "But by your own logic, women should still be subject to that biological urge. You're dating me. That debunks your theory in and of itself."

"It does not," his girlfriend refuted crossly, "Just because you aren't a two-hundred pound mongoloid with your muscles oiled up—"

Spencer let out a surprised bark of laughter at the imagery.

"—does not mean you lack qualities one would like to pass on to their offspring."

Reid ignored the way that talking about offspring made him tense up, and asked lightly, "Oh, like what?"

"You're incredibly intelligent, and good-looking—"

He scoffed.

"Spence, if you wanted to you could rival some of the male models I've seen. You're very attractive, almost androgynously pretty, and I say that with utmost honesty." Alix squeezed his hand, making him look over at her smiling visage. "You know me. I'm not going to stroke your ego."

Reid grinned and acknowledged to himself that no, she wouldn't. "Alright," he conceded, "So I'm smart and pretty."

"From an anthropological perspective, you're also healthy, which is an ideal trait to pass on," she continued.

"Ah, but you are forgetting the fact that my mother is schizophrenic," Spencer countered as they got off on the floor where Alix had her car parked, a little gray Toyota that her brother had restored for her.

"True," Alix grudgingly admitted. "Evolutionarily, that's not exactly a great recessive trait to pass on."

"Recessive? How do you know its recessive?" Reid argued.

Shooting him a withering look, she coolly replied, "Spencer, I'm fairly certain that you would have begun to show symptoms by now."

He didn't say anything more, but the niggling fear at the back of his mind popped up and said that she didn't know that, she hadn't calculated the odds. He had. He did. He was obsessed with it, constantly worried that he was going to fall apart one day and end up in the room next to his mother's. That was his worry though; there was no need to burden Alix with it as well.

They reached her car, and Alix put her coffee down on the roof as she leaned back against the door, pulling him close and sliding her arms around his waist. "Spencer, you're not going to go crazy," she whispered quietly a second before she brushed her lips over his. "Not unless I drive you to a psychotic break."

He chuckled, and let himself accept the comfort she was offering, swooping down and kissing her hard. His fingers tangled in her hair tightly, tipping her head back further.

She made a small noise, and her fingers balled up the back of his cardigan. The tiny ball on her tongue rubbed against his, and he shuddered, the sensation something he was rapidly growing more and more accustomed to. Normally, he avoided the touch of metal on his skin, finding the sensation disturbing, going so far as to wear his watch over his sleeve, but there was something about the touch of her tongue ring that he didn't mind so much. Maybe it was that his subconscious mind had associated the feel of it with sexual gratification. Then he wondered at the oddness that his aversion to touching didn't seem to extend to Alix at all. In fact, as her teeth nibbled his lower lip, and trailed her mouth over his chin and down his neck, nuzzling the skin above his collar, he thought to himself that he rather craved contact with her almost like a drug. 'Biological imperative,' his mind whispered.

He groaned as she sucked a small patch of his skin into her mouth and fought the urge to lean into her, to press her up against the door with his body and feel her along every inch of him.

Like she knew just what he was thinking, she whispered over his damp skin, her voice low and hot, "Do you think we have time for a quickie?"

The very idea, the scandalous nature of it—crawling into her car, tugging her skirt up and pressing inside of her, fucking violently fast right there in the parking lot when anybody could just walk by and see what they were doing—forced a low sound from him as things deep within him jerked and tightened with wanting. He slid his lips over hers, swallowing her quiet noises of pleasure, before it registered that her hands were sliding over his back, trying to press him closer.

He broke the kiss with an agonized moan. "I don't think so," Spencer forced himself to say.

Alix's kiss-reddened lower lip jutted out in a pout.

"Your ribs," he admitted. "I don't want to hurt you."

A sigh exploded out of her. "Man, if I could I'd go punch that bitch in the face all over again. She's not even alive anymore, but she is seriously cramping my style."

He laughed and dropped a kiss on his girlfriend's forehead, glad that she was beginning to joke about it. "I know. I'm sorry."

She lifted one shoulder in a casual shrug. "No biggie," she stated, "But…I should probably go, and you need to get back to work."

"Okay, yeah, you're right," he replied, and stepped away so that she could open her car door. "I'll see you later?"

"Bet your ass you will." Alix winked as she swiped her coffee off the roof of the car and carefully slid into the driver's seat.

Spencer ducked in and gave her a last peck goodbye, and then turned away, heading for the elevator with his hands in his pockets. _Damn_. Who'd have thought he got off on the idea of public sex? It was probably a good thing Alix was injured. He kind of liked his job, and really didn't want to get busted for public indecency on Federal property. That probably wouldn't go well. Still, he was smiling at the thought of trying to explain how she'd managed to talk him into it to his superiors. 'Well, you see, Hotch, when a beautiful woman says she wants to jump your bones, you just kind of listen. Yes, I realize we were in a parking garage, but she had this look on her face and I just couldn't resist.' Yeah, that would go over great. He chuckled to himself.

* * *

Alix was tired of being injured. Over the course of the past three weeks she had tried to initiate sex four times.

Each time she had been shot down.

It was aggravating the fuck out of her.

She had a calendar up on the fridge, and each day she drew a black 'X' over the corresponding square with a Sharpie marker, leading toward the doctor's appointment where they were going to check up on her healing progress. The day was marked with a big, glittery gold star sticker, and she'd drawn streamers and confetti around it in blue pen.

Once she was cleared, all bets were off: she was tying Spencer to the bed for a day.

That was the thing about sex: as long as you didn't know what you were missing, everything was fine, manageable. However, once you had a steady diet of just the right stuff, it was hard to give it up.

Not that she was just with Spencer for the sex. Truthfully, she'd had better. Spencer was learning, but he wasn't a Jedi master quite yet. It was just…well, Alix liked sex. It was fun, and it felt good, and she liked being close to Spencer like that. Not being able to touch him the way she wanted to, but still seeing him all the time was driving her a little nuts.

…Okay, a lot nuts.

Thank god that she was back at work! Even if it was just desk duty being able to do _something _other than sit around at home bored stiff was a nice distraction. Then it was only when Spencer spent the night-which was a fair amount of the time-that she felt like a kid with an itchy cast.

Fortunately, he'd been out of town for two nights now hunting down serial killers. The reprieve was strange; she missed him, and yet having her place, her thoughts all to herself was soothing.

He still called every night though to wish her sweet dreams.

It wasn't the same. She had nightmares every night.

* * *

"Hi, Ms. Smith," Alix stated, smiling politely at the older black woman that opened the olive green apartment door. She looked tired, as she often did, but she moved with a kind of purpose and determined cheer that the Federal agent admired. Her thick black braids were shot through with gray, and pulled back into a ponytail, and she was wearing her work uniform, the black pants and navy polo shirt that all the employees wore at the diner.

Ms. Smith offered her a grin with her red painted lips. "I thought we went through this, Alix; you call me Cherise. Jenna's in her room minding those plants." She shifted aside and let Alix pass through the doorway into the small kitchen, crowded even more by the scarred wooden dinette set, and the bicycle propped up against the wall. However tiny it was though, the room was still cheerful, painted a bright white with hand-painted flower-and-vine details around the doorways and windows. The butter-colored curtains and walls made the room look brighter than the outside light streaming in from the open windows really allowed. Most of the natural sunshine was blocked by the neighboring buildings; the only room that got really good light was the living room, and Alix suspected that was only from dawn until mid-day. "Pretty soon," Cherise laughed, "There's gonna be a jungle in that room."

Alix chuckled. "But it's a great experiment, right? I'm telling you, she'll get the scholarship."

The woman's face softened. "I know. I say a prayer every night that she will, and I know I've said it before but I want to thank you again for helping her. You've been a great influence, kept her out of trouble these past few years. I don't know what we'd have done without you. I don't know anything about getting into college, applying for scholarships and whatnot. You've really pushed Jenna to try her hardest, and that…that means a lot. It means a lot to me to know that she won't have to raise her kids in a one-bedroom apartment. So, honey, if there's ever anything I can do to return the favor, you let me know." Cherise touched her arm briefly in a gesture as sincere as any hug that Alix had ever gotten, and then moved on to sit at the kitchen table and the window she had cracked open. The dark-skinned woman fished a cigarette out of her purse, and lit it with a cheap plastic lighter.

Alix grinned, and told her, "Well, if you want to thank me, can I grab a cup of coffee?"

Jenna's mom laughed, and waved her hand with the cigarette perched between her index and middle fingers toward the half-full coffee pot on the outdated Formica counter top. "Help yourself."

She already knew which cabinet the mugs were kept in, and Alix poured herself a cup of black coffee. "Thanks, Cherise." The woman lifted her full mug up slightly in a toast.

"No problem, honey. I'm just gonna smoke this, then I'll be out of here. Lock up when you leave, yeah?"

"Yep," the brunette agreed cheerily, slipping quietly through the doorway into the living room. The hideaway bed was tucked into the couch cushions, and the blankets and pillows that Cherise used at night were piled up on the old La-Z-Boy. The shades were open, revealing a rare snatch of almost-unhindered skyline.

That was the thing about volunteering with AGGA. It was good, rewarding work, but it was hard. People who lived in urban sprawl often had a different set of problems. Cherise was a single mom who worked her butt off to make sure that her daughter, Jenna, had more opportunities than she'd ever had. She sacrificed for her kid: Jenna was given the only bedroom in the small apartment, and her interests, her needs took priority over Cherise's. The experiment was costing them, Alix knew, but in the end a successful experiment meant an application to a full-ride scholarship to the school of her choice so long as Jenna majored in the science department. Since Jenna wanted to be a botanist, that worked out well.

It was heartbreaking in some ways to watch them struggle, but the love that existed in their household was strong enough to endure the hardships. In a way, Alix was jealous. Her family had been poor white trash, so she was familiar with the quandary of money troubles. It might have been different if her father hadn't been an abusive alcoholic, if her mother hadn't left her children and taken their money; it might not have been so goddamn _hard_. Alix hadn't had a Cherise or an Alix or Amazing Girl Genius Association in her life. Maybe if she had her life wouldn't have gotten quite so far off track.

She knocked on Jenna's door.

The young woman called through the solid wood, "Just a second!" Then the door swung wide, revealing Jenna's dark springy curls, and her quiet smile. She reached out to hug Alix, and the woman stepped back hurriedly, one hand held up in defense. "Whoa, girl, I can't hug. I'm injured."

Jenna froze, frowning, and looked carefully at her mentor, dark brown eyes taking in her appearance.

Alix was wearing a black jacket with cropped sleeves, and a white camisole underneath it. The low neck showed the ugly line where she'd been sliced open all those weeks ago, though it had healed enough that the stitches were taken out. She knew what it looked like, angry red with little dots above and below it where the needle had pulled her back together.

Jenna bit her lip, worry in her gaze. "You okay?"

Shrugging, the older woman told her, "Physically, yeah. My ribs are still healing though." It was the closest she'd come to admitting that the episode in Las Vegas had affected her in a way that was going to take some time to get used to.

"Well, come on in," Jenna told her, and stepped aside, "But close the door. I don't want the environment getting compromised." 'The environment' was one of the control variables for the experiment they were running. Jenna was growing tomatoes in her room, the garden set up in huge plant pots around the room with the exception of a few Topsy-Turvy plants hanging from the ceiling.

Technically, they had designed a dual experiment, potted plants versus Topsy-Turvy plants being one of the variables. Each type of plant was then divided into three categories, those watered with regular water, those watered with Miracle-Grow, those with manure in the pots, and finally those with a special mixture that Jenna had designed herself. She charted their growth rates, size and color of the fruit, and taste to determine which method of growing produced optimized fruit. Unfortunately, to do so indoors meant that Jenna had to keep her room relatively warm with the addition of heat lamps, and moist enough that the dry heat from the furnace vents didn't negatively affect the plants.

Cherise wasn't exaggerating when she said the room resembled a jungle.

"Everything looks good," Alix complimented as she perched on the end of Jenna's neatly made twin bed. "I hope you're doing okay with sleeping in here."

Jenna shrugged. "I don't mind it," she commented, sitting down at the wooden chair in front of the desk she used for homework and lab reports, a large corner of it taken up by a monitor and keyboard. There was a tower on the floor that Alix had actually asked Garcia to update for Jenna with more memory and a new disc drive when the original one abruptly died. "I like to think of it as practice for when I'll be tromping through the jungle for real."

Alix grinned.

Her charge's smile fell as she looked at Alix's scar again. "I knew something was up when you canceled on me. You never cancel. What happened?"

The brunette shrugged. "Work hazard. An assignment I was on went sideways. I got my ass handed to me."

"Damn," Jenna sighed and shook her head, the seventeen year old girl giving way to a young woman who had already seen too much devastation in her short life. "Is this the part where you tell me I should've seen the other guy?"

"Hell fuckin' no," Alix drawled, "I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy. It's over now though. That's the important thing. Now, let's see the most recent data you've collected, and then we'll work on finding some more scholarships for you. They won't be worth as much as this one, but every little bit helps."

Jenna nodded and smiled at her. "I know. Hanging all my hopes on this one opportunity would be stupid."

"Competition's stiff," Alix admitted, "But I haven't made any secret about that."

"Yeah, I know," the girl agreed, "You're pretty straight with me. I like that about you…even though you're a skinny white girl from Cali who doesn't like Biggie." They shared a laugh.

"2-Pac all the way," Alix joked, throwing up a west coast sign. "I have to represent." She said the last in an exaggerated 'white-person' tone of voice, carefully enunciating and making her tone a little more nasal than usual.

Jenna cracked up. "Girl, you crazy," she stated between giggles.

* * *

Alix crossed off another day on her calendar, and absentmindedly answered her cell phone as it began to ring. "Blackwood," she called into the mouthpiece. "What's up?"

"Hey, stranger," her sister-in-law's voice came over the phone, "What's up with you? Haven't heard from you in awhile."

Sighing, Alix prepared herself for a freak-out, even though she knew she'd have to tell Melissa and Rob eventually. "Sorry about that. I was laid up for a couple weeks. I should have called, I know."

There was a pause and then Mel asked, "Laid up? You mean injured? Jesus Christ, with what? What happened?"

"Work happened." Alix shrugged even though nobody was there to see it, and grabbed a beer from the fridge. She wasn't taking the pain pills anymore, so she could drink again. In fact, now that she thought about it, she hadn't been taking anything for awhile, and her ribs really hadn't hurt much the past couple of days. That was a good sign, she thought.

"Work happened?" Mel replied incredulously. "I hate your job. You should change careers. I hate fucking worrying about you."

"Again?" Alix joked, "I think once was enough." It was a familiar conversation. Melissa was a pretty average girl—grown up in the suburbs, working for her father's company distributing building materials mostly to contractors, married with two kids, and living in a suburb not too far from the one she'd grown up in—and had a hard time understanding why any woman would want to have such dangerous jobs as the ones that Alix seemed to prefer.

Melissa let loose a gusty sigh. "I can't win with you, can I?"

"I'm not my brother," Alix agreed calmly as she popped the cap off the bottle of beer and put the opener back in the utensil drawer.

"No, you really aren't," Mel agreed, her voice laden with exasperation. "Your brother is perfectly content using his college degree to run a fairly profitable family business and going to his kids' baseball games. He does not, insofar as I know, have any wild urges to go out and catch bad guys."

"I did inherit all the adventurousness it seems," Alix laughed and settled down on the couch.

Melissa was quiet for a moment before she huffed, and said, "You're okay now, right?"

"Yep," Alix lied easily, "Healing up just fine. I'm going to the doctor the day after tomorrow to get my ribs x-rayed, and pending the doctor's verdict, going back into the field. The internal investigation was concluded pretty fast. There was video evidence that it was self-defense."

Mel gasped. "Holy fuck, did…did you kill somebody?"

Alix could have slapped herself. "Ah, shit, I didn't mean to say that. Sorry, Mel, forget it; it just slipped out. Highlight and hit delete." She turned on the TV, but kept the volume low enough that she could still hear her sister speak clearly, simply losing herself in the pretty pictures.

"I…I don't know what to say," she responded tremulously.

"Don't say anything," Alix suggested with false cheer.

"Okay," Mel drew the word out longer than necessary. When she spoke again it was decidedly brisk and with more of an effort to sound chipper. "So what are you doing this weekend? Any plans?"

"None."

"No hot date?" her sister-in-law wondered, "What happened to that guy you were seeing?"

"Spencer?"

Mel made a noise of agreement.

"I'm still seeing him," she said.

"Great!" Melissa cheered, "You can bring him to the barbecue on Saturday."

Pausing, Alix searched her memory for any prior knowledge of such an event. Coming up empty-handed, she asked, "Uh, what barbecue?"

"Well," Melissa began, "We asked Andrew what he wanted to do for his birthday this year, and he said he wanted to have a barbecue. He was really upset when we pointed out that it was already getting colder, and by the time we reached his actual birthday it probably would be too cold for that. You know Andrew—he started crying—and you know Rob—he can't deal with that. So Rob made him a deal: we'd pick a nice weekend now and he could invite his friends from school, and we'd have the party ahead of time, then when his actual birthday came up we'd do something quiet with just the family. Your mom won't be here this weekend as it's not technically required, but it would still be nice if you'd show up. The boys miss their Aunt Alix. So please say you'll come. You can bring your boyfriend, and help keep me sane when the children invade."

"Of course I'll come," Alix told her, her voice making it clear that she was stupid to think that Alix would do otherwise, "And truthfully it'll be easier for me if I don't have to see Valerie. You know she makes me insane."

"I know," Mel sighed. "To be honest, I'm glad she's not coming either. I know she's your guys' mom, but I can't stand that woman. Rob fucking dotes on her even though she has to be reminded of her grandchildren's birthdays, and half the time doesn't bother to show up to family functions, and she's always dropping hints about how she needs money."

"_Do not_ let Rob loan her money," Alix barked emphatically.

"I know, I know," Melissa quickly placated her. "I've made it perfectly clear to him that he is not to do so. I don't know what the hell she spends it all on because she's not wearing any designer labels whenever I see her and her house is in a pathetic state of disrepair. The only thing she's got worth any money is that car of hers."

"Her mid-life crisis car?" Alix chuckled humorlessly.

"The one and only," her sister agreed.

"She gambles a lot," the brunette admitted, sliding her hair behind her ear on the other side of her face, "And last I saw her and really spoke to her, she was into party drugs. Uppers, mostly."

"Does Rob know?" Melissa wondered.

"I have no idea. We don't talk about mom and dad. You know us, our relationship; most of the time we're pretty copacetic. The only time we really fight is when we start talking about mom and dad."

"You know," Mel hesitated, but then when she continued her voice was thick with anger, "Rob's told me a lot about your dad. If that man was still alive, I'd beat him to death with a skillet."

Snorting, Alix told her, "No, you wouldn't. He was a mean son of a bitch, but he was big and tough. Even Rob was afraid of him."

Her brother's wife exhaled slowly. Finally, she said in a defeated tone of voice, "I suppose you're right."

"Usually am," Alix responded as she took a gulp out of the sweating bottle of beer she'd been holding in her lap. "So I'll see you Saturday," she said after she'd swallowed, wanting to get off the line and away from the melancholic turn the conversation had taken.

"Yes," Melissa agreed, sounding like she'd just snapped to attention.

"Bye, Mel."

"Bye, Alix."

The apartment seemed too quiet after she'd set her cell phone down on the coffee table, ringing with the echoes of memory. The slurred roar of her father's voice when he came home drunk and wanted to fight with somebody too weak to defend themselves, the sting of his hand, the sound of her own cries, of her mother's cries, of her brother's cries the few times he'd tried to defend the woman that Alix now refused to call anything but 'Valerie;' she didn't deserve to be 'mom.' Alix wasn't sure what was worse, the memory of his dismissive sneer that was only ever aimed at his wife, and then later his daughter, or the times when she had his attention and waited with sick dread for the inevitable explosion.

She turned the volume up on the TV louder than it needed to be, and tried to immerse herself in the fantasies it projected.

That night the nightmares were worse, Marie Coolidge's face morphing from its harsh beauty to her own more elfin looks and then changing entirely to those of a man. Her father's green eyes shot venom in her direction, and his hands were huge, monstrously huge. He took his belt off, and she was fourteen again, small and terrified, bent in supplication. Her skin sang with the heat of repeated lashings, pain pulsing along her nerves. There would be bruises, and she would hide them, and no one would ever know what went on behind the closed doors in their home. She would pretend because that was how she survived, locked away inside her own head.

Alix screamed, really screamed that night, so loud that she woke herself up, and she may have cried but if she did, she wouldn't admit it.

The rest of the night was passed at the kitchen table with an easel and paints and a very old canvas that would never be finished. It was black and red and brown and puke green, heavily textured. That night she added violet and blue and the yellowing of a faded bruise. Somewhere in all the confusion she painted a very tiny image of a body doubled over, arms outstretched, reaching for salvation that never came.

* * *

Two days later, she was perched on the edge of the exam table in the doctor's office wearing another fucking atrocious hospital gown. She had been waiting for twenty minutes after they took x-rays, and was growing impatient.

Her phone rang, and she fished it out of her purse, wondering idly if her reception was going to be any good buried this far in the building. "Hey," she answered, smiling outright because of the name on the display.

"Hi." Spencer's voice echoed slightly in her ear, but she figured that was just because of her location, like she'd anticipated. He sounded happy enough, but tired. "I just wanted to call and let you know that we're on our way back."

"Oh, that's good," Alix replied. "This was a tough one, hey?"

"Yes," the analytical Dr. Reid answered her, but would say nothing more. "Anyway, I just wanted to let you know because I'm pretty exhausted, so I'm just going to spend the night at my place. I know we haven't seen each other in awhile, but I think if I don't get a full night of sleep I'm going to start micro-napping."

"That bad? Yeesh! Yeah, definitely go straight home. Get some rest. If you're—" The doctor stepped back in the room, a short, balding older man with a European accent, and he was holding her chart in his hands. He looked dwarfed by his lab coat, and she was reminded of children playing dress-up. "Shit, can you hold on a sec? I'm at the doctor, and I'm about to find out what's up with my ribs."

"No problem," Spencer responded, and she took the phone away from her ear for a little bit.

"So, doc, give it to me straight," Alix demanded with a bright smile on her face.

The doctor looked up from her charts, and told her, "You seem to be healing nicely. Barring any unforeseen complications, you should be fully healed in another month."

"A _month_?" she shouted, and then clapped a hand over her mouth when she remembered that Spencer was on the line and had probably heard her indignant shriek loud and clear.

The experienced physician gave her a wan smile, completely unruffled by her outburst. "A month," he calmly reiterated, "You see, at this point your ribs are mostly healed, but they are still weak. A hard knock would easily re-break them. You can go back to your normal routine, but you should take care not to put any unnecessary stress on yourself. In short, you can engage in light physical activity, but nothing like sparring or hand to hand combat. No chasing down bad guys, Ms. Blackwood."

She slumped a little.

Seeing her disappointment, the doctor told her, "I'm sorry, but this is just the way the human body works. Give it time to heal, Ms. Blackwood. I really don't want to see you here again for another month, when we perform what should be your last check-up. You make my staff nervous."

Alix grinned fiercely. "Thanks, doc. I try." She knew that she wasn't the best patient in the world, that doctors and needles and waiting rooms made her edgy. Unfortunately, some of that leaked over onto the staff, resulting in a bad attitude on her part, and wary nurses on theirs. Of course, she liked to think that she was just livening up their days a little, and the squat nurse who worked the front desk with the thinning blonde hair kept tied in a tight queue always gave her a sucker as she left—her favorite was the mystery wrapper; Alix liked being surprised, at least when it came to sucker flavors. Anyway, she couldn't be that hated if they were giving her candy, right?

He smiled ruefully and left the exam room shaking his head.

Raising the phone up to her ear again, Alix asked, "Spence? You still there?"

"I am," he replied.

"Heard that?" she wondered.

"Some," Spencer admitted. "I take it you're on light duty for awhile?"

"Fuck my life," she groaned. "I don't know how I'm gonna survive. I'm so bored!" Her hand slapped the exam table, and the paper made a loud _pap_ against the vinyl. Spencer sighed, but before he could say anything else she continued on. "Anyway, if you're feeling up to it tomorrow, my brother and sister-in-law are having a barbecue, and they invited us. I'm going regardless—they're celebrating my nephew's birthday like a month early—but attendance is optional for you."

"Your brother?" Spencer replied, his voice sounding faint and far away.

Alix chortled at his expense. "Yeah, my brother. Don't worry; he's not going to grill you or anything. Ha, grill. Get it?"

"Oh god," the great and powerful Dr. Reid whimpered.

"Seriously, it's no big deal," Alix tried to reassure him, a little worried by the panic he was displaying. She just didn't think meeting her brother was that scary of a thing. Truth be told, Rob was kind of a pussy. Melissa was the one that Spencer should have been worried about. She was like one of those olden-day female assassins, slipping poison in your drink while she sat there across from you and smiled pretty, and then calmly watched while you choked and died.

"I'll, uh, I'll call you beforehand. What time is the party?" he asked.

Alix would have laid down money that he wasn't going to call, but she answered him anyway. "Starts at one in the afternoon, and I should get there a little early to help set up. It's an hour drive so we'd have to leave by eleven, eleven-thirty-ish." Hesitating, Alix told him, "Spencer, you don't have to come if you're really uncomfortable. I just thought I would extend the invitation."

"No, I know," he said quickly, "I'm just not sure if I'll be up for it. I'll call you early in the morning and let you know how I'm feeling."

For an agent, he was a terrible liar, at least when it came to this. She wasn't sure if she'd ever want to play cards with a guy who could calculate the odds in a nanosecond though. Reid was always curiously blank-faced when he was doing math. "My brother's not going to beat you up for boffing me," she repeated again just in case he hadn't gotten the message the first time around. Maybe that time it would sink in, breaking through the paranoia that he was clearly wrapping himself up in.

His response was a weak, "He played football, right?"

"In college," she scoffed. "I guarantee that you can outrun him should you need to. He's got a bum knee, and a bad hip."

Reid made a quiet sound of affirmation, and then abruptly said, "I've got to go. We're getting ready for take-off."

"Bye, Spencer," she cooed, smothering her laughter and her disappointment.

"Bye," he replied quickly.

The call ended, Alix got off of the exam table and started pulling on her clothes. As she was leaving the doctor's office, she whimpered to herself. "Another month?"

* * *

Reid woke up at seven in the morning, his tired mind informing him that something was just not right. The silence in his apartment was disturbing, and the only warmth in the bed was accumulated from his own body heat. He hadn't realized just how accustomed he was to sharing a bed now.

His body was not programmed to sleep in, which was unfortunate because he actually could have used a few more hours lying down. His insistent bladder pushed him out of bed, and when he was finished in the bathroom, Spencer went to the kitchen, put the coffee on, and poured himself a bowl of cereal while he waited.

He knew he probably shouldn't be so hesitant to meet Alix's brother. Alix kept telling him that her brother wasn't the type to harass her dates, but Spencer wondered if maybe he just did it whenever Alix wasn't in the room and it was for that reason that he was waffling on whether or not he should accept the invite. Besides, meeting the family was like…a big deal, colloquially, wasn't it? That was the impression he was laboring under anyway, and as it didn't seem like Alix was going to introduce him to her parents, meeting her brother, Rob, was probably the closest he was going to get to that.

And if he met her family did that then mean he was obligated to introduce her to his? He couldn't really picture dragging her all the way out to Vegas—and good god, who knew if she'd even want to after what happened there—to meet his mom at the sanitarium. Besides, his mom didn't always react well to strangers. It depended on how good of a day she was having, and that was almost always up in the air. Plus maybe if Alix saw his mom, a tiny voice piped up in the back of his head, saw how awful the schizophrenia was, she'd begin to have doubts about Spencer. Yeah, she said he wasn't going to go crazy and whatnot, but as the saying went, talk was cheap. Maybe after some first-hand experience she'd change her mind, decide he wasn't worth the risk after all.

On the other hand, if he didn't go she might take that as a sign that he wasn't as interested as he really was. It may form a wedge between them and turn into one of those things that grows and festers, and then takes over.

Spencer laid his head on the breakfast counter, letting the coolness from the tile heat under his skin. The drip on the coffee pot slowed, so he slipped off the chair and went to pour himself a mug with two spoonfuls of sugar and some milk. It took two cups of coffee, but eventually he made up his mind to go. Picking up his cell phone, he called Alix a little after eight o' clock. She answered by grunting into the phone, and growling, "What?"

"Uh, hey," Spencer began, "Good morning."

A lingering silence settled between them during which he heard some shuffling and cursing, and knew that she was probably reaching for her alarm clock to check the time. "Goddamn," she sighed, "It should not be morning yet."

"I agree," he shot back lightly.

"Mm, so go back to bed," she grumped. "I've got some time before I have to get ready. Enough for another hour or two of precious, precious sleep." He heard her sigh over the phone, and the sound of sheets moving.

"You're already up," he pointed out. "You won't go back to bed now."

"Fuck you and your deductive skills," Alix shot back, but he knew better than to take offense. She really did not like to be woken up. "You don't know. I could roll over and fall back asleep right now." A fake snore traveled over the airwaves, and he chuckled.

"I'll meet you at your place around eleven," he told her.

"You will?" she blurted out, unable to hide the surprise in her tone.

Spencer winced. Obviously she'd already assumed from his panic on the phone yesterday that he wasn't going to show up. "Yeah," he responded, trying to sound calm and matter-of-fact about it. "Do I need to bring a present?"

Alix hesitated. "I have an extra one. I was going to give it to Andy on his actual birthday, but if you want, you can give it to him."

"What is it?" Spencer found himself asking. If he was going to pass off a gift as something he bought, it should at least be feasible. Alix, as his aunt, might have bought him clothes. Since Spencer didn't actually know the boy, that would be kind of an odd gift for him to give.

"It's, ah, it's a rocket building kit. I bought it thinking that he and I could put it together one weekend at my brother's place. They'll never do it, but they don't care if I supervise the questionable activities." She laughed.

Of course Alix wouldn't get him something so boring as clothes though, Spencer chided himself. What had he been thinking? "What are you going to give him on his actual birthday then?"

He could almost see her shrugging her shoulders in that careless way she had. "I'll get him something else. Maybe a skateboard. His parents would _love_ that." They shared a laugh, and then Alix went on talking, "It's really not a big deal. I'll wrap it up in the comics right now. It'll take me two seconds."

"Alright," he agreed, "But only because I wouldn't begin to know where to start shopping for him, and I'm sure you'd like to get there sometime today. So just tell me how much I owe you for the kit."

"It was only twelve dollars," she told him, "An easy loss. You don't have to pay me for it."

"I kind of do," Spencer replied. "That way at least I can say with a straight face that I bought your nephew a birthday present."

He surprised a laugh out of Alix, and her sharp, low bark made him pause as his brain analyzed that sound. It was a hairsbreadth away from the kind of laughter she had when she was turned on: low, dark, sensual. A quick pulse of lust fired through him, which he quickly smothered like a fire before it caught aflame. Light duty, he reminded himself.

"Alright, fine, whatever. Give me the twelve dollars and we'll call it even. So I'll see you at eleven?" she asked abruptly.

"Yes." Idly, he noted that his voice was a little lower pitch than usual, growing throaty. Alix didn't seem to notice it, which he rather thought was kind of a good thing. She would only be more persistent if she knew what he was thinking.

"Good. Later," she called and hung up the phone, and that time there was a distinctly pleased note in her sing-song farewell.

* * *

Alix's brother and sister-in-law lived in a two-story colonial house in an older suburb of Leesburg, Virginia. The classic design was updated a little due to the brown brick siding. The front door was cherry wood, and the shutters were a deep forest green. A six-foot tall wood fence surrounded the back yard starting from the side of the attached garage, whose door matched the green shutters, and wrapping all the way around to the other side of the house. It looked picturesque, like some little girl's idea of the American Dream, Spencer thought as Alix put her car in park right in front of the garage on the right hand side. He assumed that was to leave room for other cars to park in the driveway.

He stepped out of the passenger side door, grabbing the bag with the presents from the back seat. Between the two of them it was an acknowledged fact that Alix's car got much better gas mileage than his ancient station wagon, and since it was her car and her destination, they agreed that it was more logical for her to drive. Some men might have had a problem with that, but Spencer didn't really care who drove. In fact, he preferred being driven. Heavy traffic made him nervous, which was why he usually took public transportation in the city.

"So, this is it," Spencer breathed aloud, and there was more nerves in his words than he wanted there to be.

Alix glanced at him and grinned sardonically across the low hood of her Toyota. She looked very pretty that day, he thought, and was distracted from his anxiety for a moment as he looked at her; her eyes the color of spring grass, wide, and with the little tilt at the corners accented by a touch of eyeliner. He knew because she hadn't been quite ready when he'd shown up, and then they'd lost some time saying hello to one another. In the end, he'd sat on the closed toilet lid in the bathroom and they'd talked while she did her make-up. She hadn't put on much, and Spencer realized that she never really did unless she was going out late at night and wanted to look dramatic. A little eyeliner and mascara, and a touch of neutral-pink lip stain, and she was done. Such minute changes, but they had the right effect, calling attention to her eyes, which he privately thought was one of her best features, certainly something he'd noticed right off the bat.

Her eyebrow quirked when he stared a little too long, and she stepped around the car wordlessly, a sway in her hips that said she knew he was watching her and her body was responding to his gaze with a nonverbal invitation of its own. It wasn't like she was wearing anything overtly sexual, but he found himself devouring the sight of her anyway. It was just a sundress, a white sundress with black stem-and-leaf patterns on it. At the very bottom there was a border of huge, bright pink flowers. When he'd first stared she had grown self-conscious and told him, 'It's a barbecue. I figured I should make some effort. Besides, it's nice enough outside today.' Her only concession to the season was a black sweater with cropped sleeves that she still hadn't buttoned up. Her legs were displayed wonderfully, encased in sheer skin-colored hose, ending in flat black dress shoes. He had been totally distracted by the long length of her thigh and the lacy top of her thigh-high as she drove with her skirt hiked up a ways the entire way there.

It wasn't that Alix wasn't normally beautiful. Spencer thought she was always beautiful, even as battered as she'd been in the hospital. However, it was rare that she made such an effort, and he never saw her wear dresses, not ever. It was a thoroughly new sight for him, and he was taking it in.

Alix's arms linked around his neck, and she stretched up on her toes, pulling him down to her for a long, gentle kiss. "Do you think I look gorgeous today?" she asked in a near whisper when they had pulled away by mutual decision.

"Yes, I do," he agreed, his arms loose around her waist, voice dipping into seductive tones again.

Her smile was resplendent. "Thank you," she said, and stepped away from him, but reached back to take his hand. "Now come on, and let's go inside."

They walked up to the front door, and she pulled open the screen door, pounding a cursory knock on the front door before she walked right in, dragging Spencer behind her like a recalcitrant puppy on a leash. He wasn't sure if they should just walk in like that, didn't think it was very appropriate. They were guests, after all.

Alix raised her voice, calling out, "Hey, I'm here! Where's everybody at?"

"Auntie Alix!" came the resounding chorus, and the sound of feet slapping against tile. Two boys came careening out of a doorway, and Alix dropped his hand, sinking gracefully to one knee, arms open. She managed to lock her arms when they flung themselves at her, holding them away from her long enough to suck the impact out of their charge and protecting her midsection, then she tugged them in close, their little arms wound around her neck.

"Hey, guys!" she laughed. "It's been awhile. Jeez, you get bigger every time I see you."

The older boy disentangled himself first, grinning and dancing back. He had a look of mischief in his eyes that Spencer recognized from his aunt. "Hi, Auntie. We missed you," Andrew began, but rattled on excitedly before she could even respond, "I grew an inch, and won second place in the spelling bee."

"You lost because you forgot the 'y' in crayon," his brother announced with a hint of smugness, pulling away from Alix's shoulder, though he kept an arm looped over her back as she did him.

"Shut up," Andy shouted.

"You shut up!" the younger boy shot back.

Alix pinched her nephew's waist lightly to get his attention. "How about you both shut up?" she suggested lightly, "I don't want to play referee today, and Colin, you know your mom will send you to your room if she catches you picking on your brother at his own party."

"Yeah," Andy snidely backed up his aunt, sticking out his tongue at the younger boy.

"Good god," Alix sighed and stood up, hoisting her younger nephew with her. "I can't believe you're at it already." The last was said almost under her breath. When she glanced around she caught Spencer's amused gaze, and shrugged sheepishly. "Siblings," she said like that explained it all, and to her mind it probably did. To Spencer, who was an only child and had no experience in that realm, it seemed an inadequate explanation. "Boys," she turned to her nephews, "I want to introduce you to somebody. This is—"

"Santa Claus?" Andy chortled.

"Ronald McDonald?" Colin continued, following his older brother's lead.

"Yu-Gi-Oh?"

"The Pink Panther?" Colin squealed excitedly and wiggled in his aunt's arms.

She set him down quickly, frowning. "Close, but no cigar. This is my friend, Spencer."

The boys looked at him curiously. Spencer gave them a little wave and said, "Hi."

"Hi," they chorused.

"Spence," Alix continued, "These are my nephews, Andrew and Colin. In case you get confused, Andy is the troublemaker, and Colin is usually the one who takes the fall for Andy's schemes. Curse of the younger sibling, I think. My brother did the same thing to me. 'Hey, Ali, you know what'll be fun? You get in this garbage can and I'll push you down the hill. Then you can do it to me!' Only after I almost got hit by a car, Rob decided that was not a good game to play." Both little boys laughed, and behind them a deeper, older version of the same laugh joined in.

A man came out of the swinging kitchen door, and he knew that it must be Alix's brother. They had the same hair, sleek caps of dark brown, and even though Alix dyed hers frequently and it wasn't quite the same shade as her brother's natural color, they still looked similar enough. They even had the same eye shape and long lashes, though her brother's eyes were blue instead of green. He was also taller than her, closer to Spencer's height, and broad in the shoulders with a hint of stubble on his cheeks. He was wearing jeans and flannel shirt, and looked like a man's man type of guy. "I never would have done anything if I thought it would actually get you hurt," the man argued, though there was a dimple on his cheek as he grinned unrepentantly.

When the boys turned to look at their father, Alix quickly flipped off her older brother. He just laughed and strode forward, extending a hand to Spencer. "Hi, I'm Rob, Ali's brother."

He made himself shake it even though he preferred not to shake hands often. Spencer figured it might help make a better first impression. It was the socially acceptable form of greeting, after all, and people, men in particular, judged each other's characters by the strength of their first handshake. As Alix would say, he didn't want to look like a pussy in front of Alix's brother. "Hi, Spencer, Alix's…"

Alix snorted and supplied the word, "Boyfriend. He's my boyfriend, who is terrified of meeting you because he thinks you're going to bust out a shotgun."

"Well," Rob drawled playfully, dropping Spencer's hand, "Now that you mention it, I was going to show you my collection." After a second of frightfully good poker-face, he burst out laughing. "Oh, man, you should've seen your face." The older man slapped his knees, still chortling.

His sister, of course, joined him in cheerfully poking fun at her boyfriend, and stated, "Seriously, Spence, for a second there you looked like you were gonna bolt." Her laughter was lighter though, less raucous, and she gripped his hand, squeezing gently so that he knew she wasn't trying to be mean.

Rob straightened up and told him with a grin, "Trust me, my sister doesn't need me to get out the shotgun. She is way scarier than me."

Alix stuck her pierced tongue out at him, and he responded in kind.

A voice came from the kitchen. "Where's my sis?" a woman yelled.

"She's stressed," Rob whispered conspiratorially to the brunette on Spencer's arm.

"Of course," Alix snapped back in her 'duh' voice. She disentangled herself from them, walking toward the kitchen. "I'll go help. Rob, don't make my boyfriend cry. I'll beat you up," she warned as the door swung closed behind her.

Sometime while he was being introduced to Rob, the boys had disappeared in the sneaky way that children often have. Spencer glanced around, desperate for a distraction. The living room was pretty big with a brick fireplace at one end, and an upright piano shoved into a corner. The room was decorated in shades of green—hunter, sage, and something with a little more yellow in it—with gray accents. It was a little feminine, but not overly so. Desperate for something to say, he was about to open his mouth to comment on the décor of all things, when Rob saved him and stated, "Come on, I'll give you a tour of the downstairs." As they were walking through the living room to the wide wooden doorway—not the swinging kitchen door, Spencer noted—Alix's brother asked, "So how did you meet my sister?"

"Ah—" Spencer hesitated.

"Wait, let me guess," Rob laughed, "It'll be more fun. This is the dining room. As you can see, we've prepared to host a bunch of pint-sized mess-makers today." His words held true, because as Spencer looked around he noticed that the long table, wooden from what he could see of the legs, was covered with a plastic tablecloth, and underneath it was some kind of plastic rug, sparing the cream colored carpeting from most spills. There was a small pile of presents on one end of the table, and Spencer added theirs to the mix. A happy birthday banner was tacked up on one wall, and balloons and streamers were clustered in every available corner. "We're going to try to eat outside at the picnic table, but just in case the weather takes a sudden turn, we've got a back-up plan."

"You sound like you've done this before," Spencer chuckled, "Like you're organizing a battle plan or something."

"Not a bad analogy," Rob agreed with a thoughtful look on his face, "A birthday party is kind of like Invasion of the Tiny Destroyers. You have to set up your line of defense. Make a plan, make a back-up plan, and make a back-up back-up-plan just in case."

"Honey, where are you?" The same woman called, sounding harried.

"Oh god," Rob blanched. Louder, he replied, "I'm giving Spencer a tour!" and started guiding him toward a plain wooden door with quick, urgent shoves. "Go, go!" Alix's brother hissed at him.

Hurriedly opening the door, Spencer stepped through only to find himself looking at a minivan and a sedan. "What—" he began asking, but found himself cut off as Rob quickly shut the door and walked over to a workbench taking up the front end of the garage.

The older man heaved a sigh of relief. "Man, you will not believe how many times today my wife has taken a strip out of my hide already. I'm so glad that we don't have to do this again until the spring. Colin's birthday isn't until May," Rob told him absently, fishing a pack of cigarettes out of a red toolbox and lighting up. He popped open another door in the garage and leaned against the jamb.

Spencer smelled fresh air and grass, and saw some kind of stone patio.

"The back yard," Rob explained, noticing his gaze. "One of the doors that goes out there anyway. There's a door in the kitchen too, and a patio door in the family room."

"Ah, I see," Spencer replied, though he really didn't. He had no idea why they were in the garage except that apparently Rob was hiding from his wife.

"So, anyway, let's see…Okay, well, I know Ali, so I'm betting you met at a bar," Rob stated surely, and blew his cigarette smoke outside. "I'm not allowed to smoke in the house," he confided to Spencer, "but Mel doesn't care if I smoke in the garage, just not around the kids."

"Where'd they go anyway?" Spencer asked.

Shrugging, Alix's brother replied, "Probably upstairs, maybe in the family room. They'll want to stay inside though so they can be close when people start arriving."

"First on the scene," Spencer mused.

"You got it."

"Aren't you worried about them answering the door?" he asked automatically.

Rob glanced at him for a long time, and then just shrugged. "They check to see who it is first, and they know everybody who's coming. If it's a stranger, they'll get me or Mel. We've got 'em trained."

"Isn't that…a little dangerous?" Reid replied hesitantly, but bit off the urge to start spouting kidnapping statistics. The last thing he needed was for Alix's brother to give him _that look_—the one people gave him whenever they thought he was being a supercilious little prig. "You know, kidnappers and everything."

Rob blew smoke out of his nose like some great dragon, and lifted his shoulders in another shrug. "If you spend your whole life worrying about everything that could happen, you'll go crazy. We do our best, teach our kids to be cautious and use their better judgment, and we pray to god that nothing bad happens despite all that. That's really all you can do."

Just then the garage door opened, the one that led into the house, and Alix poked her head out, hissing, "Get your ass in here, and calm your woman. One of Andy's friends showed up early, and she's not done frosting the cake yet. You'd think somebody had just dropped a ticking time-bomb in her lap, and she only had thirty seconds to deactivate it." Her eyes lit on Spencer, and she grinned. "Hiding out in the batcave already, eh?"

He shrugged, and offered her a sheepish smile. "Your brother was pretty insistent."

Alix leveled a playful glare at Rob. "Stop bullying my boyfriend. Come on, Spence, I'll introduce you to Mel. And put that damn cigarette out before you stink up the house." That was the second time she'd called him her boyfriend in front of her brother. Hm.

Rob chuckled and flipped her the bird.

Reid, as he followed Alix back in the house and shut the garage door behind him, wondered idly if that was a fairly typical sibling relationship, or if they were really as weird as he thought they were.

On the opposite end of the dining room there was another swinging kitchen door that Reid hadn't noticed before, and Alix pushed through ahead of him calling out a warning just in case Melissa was behind the door for some odd reason. The woman in question was standing with her back to them at the counter wielding an icing cone. The first thing Spencer noticed about her was how tiny she was. He'd thought that Alix was fairly petite; her sister-in-law looked to be not only shorter than her, but also small and delicate like a fairy. Her hair was strawberry blonde, and cropped short like Audrey Hepburn.

When she finished whatever she was making with the icing, Melissa turned, the worry lines between her high, arching eyebrows smoothing away. She was freckled—very freckled—and for some reason he noticed it more when she smiled, her cheeks lifting up and drawing attention to the freckles up high on her face. She wasn't unattractive though. On the contrary, she was very pretty. "Hello there, you must be Spencer. I'm Melissa."

"Hi, Melissa," he began with an answering grin, "Yes, I'm Spencer. It's nice to meet you."

"You too," she chirped, and waved the icing cone a little. "I hope you don't mind if I don't offering to shake your hand. I have to finish making this dinosaur cake. And before you even say anything, Alix—"

Sure enough out of the corner of his eye he saw Alix's mouth snap closed.

"—I know I could have just ordered a damn cake, but it's not the same. Andy wanted a cake with a stegosaurus on it. All they had was a T-Rex," Melissa finished and turned back around to her masterpiece. She consulted a piece of paper left lying next to the cake, and then began to wield her medium of choice once again. "So, Spencer, have a seat at the breakfast counter, why don't you? Do you want something to drink?"

"There's plenty of orange and white soda," Alix dryly intoned.

Grinning at her, he slipped onto one of the comfortable stools on the opposite side of the counter. There was a dog bed in the corner, and food bowls next to the back door, and he wondered where the dog was. He hadn't heard a peep since they'd been there. "A soda's fine. Whatever you have," he replied.

"Alix," Melissa said. That was all, but apparently she got the drift because a second later his girlfriend was rummaging in the fridge. When she returned it was with a can of coke in one hand, and a can of Miller High Life in the other. She offered him the soda with a "here ya go," and hopped up onto the other chair, popping the top on the beer. "It's a little early for that, don't you think?" her sister-in-law asked pointedly.

Grinning cheekily, Alix replied, "I'm relaxing for the both of us."

Just then her brother came in the kitchen, glanced at Alix, and said, "Good idea." He too grabbed a beer out of the fridge.

Mel sighed, wiping her cheek on her shoulder, and asked rhetorically, "What am I going to do with you two?"

"Give us something to set on fire?" Alix cackled.

"Something to blow up?" Rob added.

Alix gasped. "Even better; something that will make pretty colors as it blows up?"

Rob glanced over at her and stated with obvious relish, "I can't wait for Fourth of July."

"Me either!" his girlfriend crowed and raised her palm. Brother and sister high-fived, and then Alix continued, "A toast to things that go boom!"

"Here, here!" Rob echoed her sentiment, and they clinked cans and chugged.

Spencer looked around at them all, at the defiant siblings, and the lovingly exasperated look on Melissa's face, and thought back to meeting Andy and Colin, and the brothers' performance in the entry way, and he started laughing. When all of the other adults turned astonished faces to him, he flushed and took a sip of coke, then admitted as his laughter sputtered back to life, "You guys are so funny."

Alix pinched his cheek teasingly and drawled, "Hey, mister, watch it. Remember, I'm the one who sexes you up. Don't make fun of me."

He laughed harder, and she tugged him close and chastely kissed him right there in front of her brother and his wife. Spencer stopped laughing.

"Yuck," Rob groaned, and threw a fistful of mini-pretzels at his sister. "Let's keep it PG up in here. There's kids running around here."

"And children masquerading as adults," Mel put in, her voice laden with amusement.

"Speaking of, where are the kids?" Rob asked, taking another drink from his can.

"In the family room," Melissa replied.

"They're watching _Jurassic Park_," Alix added helpfully.

"_Jurassic Park_!" Melissa shouted.

Both Alix and Rob rolled their eyes. "Dude, it's not that bad of a movie," she drawled, "Those kids have seen worse on the Disney channel."

"Besides, I've already let them watch it before," Rob added.

Melissa huffed. "Fine, it can stay on for now, but I better not get any complaints from Tim's mom that I let her son watch _Jurassic Park_."

"He seemed cool with it," Alix shrugged, "Said his mom's let him watch it before too."

"Did it ever occur to you that he was lying?" Melissa asked in tightly leashed irritation.

"Sure, it did," Alix chortled. "That's why I asked him how it ends. I'm not stupid, Mel. Just because I don't have kids doesn't mean I don't know how they think." She made a face at her sister-in-law's back.

Rob just grinned when Melissa's protestations subsided into silence and kissed his wife on the back on her neck. "I'm going to go see if the boys want something to snack on while they wait." The doorbell rang. "Nevermind, I'm going to get the door," he swiftly changed his mind, heading out the other swinging kitchen doorway, the one that led out to the living room and the foyer.

Alix drained the last of her beer, and slid her hand up onto his knee.

He covered her palm with his own, and they shared a secret smile. Warmth suffused him.

Maybe this is what home feels like, Spencer thought to himself.

* * *

Spencer's ears were ringing, but it was the good kind of ringing, if there was such a thing; nothing that precipitated a headache at any rate. He was overwrought with the sound of screeches and laughter. By the time everyone had arrived, Andy's guest list was up at six children. Rob grilled hamburgers and hot dogs, and the kids all ran around outside and played pirates and dinosaurs—whose rules were still incomprehensible after he'd casually observed them for half an hour-on the jungle gym until Melissa called them inside to open presents. The rocket was a hit, as Alix had clearly known it would be. She'd also gotten Andy a model car that he could build by himself. Apparently, he really liked making things. After that there was cake and ice cream, and Alix almost got a chair backed into her fragile torso. He'd quietly insisted that she leave the serving to the other adults after that, and surprisingly she'd agreed with him.

Once the kids had burned off their sugar highs playing party games, and beating the crap out of a piñata, and some of the parents began to arrive, Alix sat in the family room and told a story to her nephews and two of Andy's friends about a ragtag group of dinosaurs. He listened long enough to realize that she was snagging bits of the plot from _The Land Before Time_, and merging it with the show _Dinosaurs_ and what he thought was _The Fifth Element_, which was one of Alix's favorite movies. He'd seen it three times since they started dating.

He walked into the living room, eyes roving over the family portraits. The butler door to the kitchen was propped open, and he could hear Melissa and Rob talking quietly, barely audible over the din as they cleaned up. There were the boys' school pictures, and a big family portrait taken a few years ago. Colin only looked about three or four in it. He moved on, lingering on the family shots, and got to the ones with Alix in them. She always looked happy in them except when there was a certain blonde-haired blue-eyed woman in them. Then there was a pinched look about her eyes and mouth as she smiled and tried to pretend.

The older photos were up in collages: Melissa with her family, and Rob with his. Most of the pictures were just him and his sister, though occasionally there would be pictures of the blonde-haired woman, and even rarer still a tall, dark-haired man with an imposing look on his face and an ever-present drink in his hand. There was one picture that Spencer kept coming back to, obviously an impromptu shot. They were standing on their front lawn. The man had a drink in his hand full of amber liquid and a cigar chomped between his teeth, and was sitting a little to the left of the middle of the front steps. The blonde woman was balancing a basket of laundry on her hip, half-turned as she tried to go up the steps, a small grin tugging up the lips in a face that simply looked too tired to smile all the way. Alix was standing next to the man with her hands clasped in front of her, and she looked tense and uncomfortable, though her lips were quirked upward as well. Her hair was long, and a rich brown like the man with the drink in his hand. She was wearing a uniform, a plaid skirt and white button-down with matching tights. A younger version of her brother had an arm thrown over her shoulder, and was grinning widely, showing his teeth. He was the only one whose smile looked genuine.

"That was a good day for me."

Rob's voice startled him, and he jumped and spun to face him guiltily.

The other man just gave him a sad little smile. His eyes slid back to the picture. "I'd just found out that I had gotten a football scholarship to UCLA. My girlfriend at the time, Kelly, took a picture when I got home to tell my parents. She wanted to be a photographer." Rob sighed, and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Unfortunately, it was a bad day for my sister. She'd come home late because she had detention, and the teacher called home. Apparently, she'd gotten in an argument with a nun about the doctrine of the Lord. It wasn't what she did that was important though. It was that my dad had to come and pick my sister up from school when she knew that he was going out with his buddies."

"What happened?" Spencer asked when Rob fell silent; ignoring the terrible burning in his gut that told him he already knew the answer to his question.

Rob looked away from the picture, met Spencer's eyes as though he was surprised to note that he had a captive audience, and finally shrugged. "My dad whooped her ass. He was a hard man to like. Mom got the worst of it, of course, but when she left he turned his focus to Ali. She was the only one still living there, so you know…of course that's what happened. Then she ran away for like, a year, and nobody knew where she was except she was still going to school, so we knew she hadn't died or anything."

"That's—" he paused, searching for words, for the right word, for something that wouldn't trivialize what they had gone through, "—rough." It was inadequate, but it was the best he could do.

Rob shrugged again, and shot him a sardonic grin. "That's life. We all survived it."

"Where are your parents now?" Spencer asked.

"Well, our mom, Valerie, lives in Portland, and our dad died awhile ago. Car accident."

Behind Rob, Spencer could make out a slight shifting movement in the long hallway that led to the first floor rooms and a big pink flower on the hem of a dress. He figured that Alix had probably been eavesdropping for awhile, debating whether or not she ought to interrupt. Finally, she slipped around the corner.

Their eyes met.

Hers were worried.

His were sad.

She cleared her throat.

Rob turned around and smiled at her. "Hey," he said, "Your Indian name should be Walks-Like-Shadow."

"Fuck yeah," she grinned, "That'd be pretty sweet. So, um, I'm done entertaining the kids. They're watching some cartoon that I don't know about because I'm not cool enough."

"Thanks," her brother replied, "I appreciate that. I was hoping that Brian and Mandy's parents would be here sooner, but they called just a little bit ago and said they're running late."

Alix walked further into the room, around her brother so she could slip her arm around Spencer's waist. "It's okay. I get it, and I'm happy to help."

"Alright," Rob said slowly, a curious twinkle in his eyes, "I'm going to see what Mel's doing. I'm sure she's replenished my list of tasks by now." He turned on his heel to go.

For a long time Alix didn't say anything. She just tipped her head against him, and he twined his arms around her. They swayed a little almost like they were dancing. Finally when she spoke, it was a calmly stated, "You will never meet my mother, not unless you come here for Christmas one year when she doesn't fucking blow my brother off. I hate that bitch." Her voice was so cool, so emotionless. "I will never forgive her for leaving me in that house alone knowing what kind of man my father was. I will never forgive her for saving herself by placing me in the line of fire. Rob doesn't understand that. He thinks I need to move on, that I should just get over it. He doesn't see that I can't just 'get over it.' I love my brother, but he always had it easy. He was born with the right set of parts, and so most of the time my dad let him get away with all sorts of shit as long as he never got in the way when dad was wailing on me or mom. Rob got to go to college, Valerie got to go to Reno, and I got stuck cleaning up after it all."

She fell silent again, but licked her lips anxiously, tightening her grip on him spasmodically. Spencer knew she wasn't done talking yet, and he told himself to wait, to be patient until she spoke again. He let out a silent sigh when Alix began once more, her voice soft so that no one would overhear. "Rob was so calm when he told you that our father turned his rage onto me, but he never really saw what it was like, he never experienced it. I was fifteen when Valerie left us and Rob moved away. My dad's drinking got even worse, and he got more violent. I lived in constant fear because one moment he'd be fine and the next he'd be beating the crap out of me for something I didn't even know I'd done wrong. I had locks on the inside of my bedroom door. _Locks_, Spencer. Plural. It was…insane. He was plummeting in this downward spiral, and dragging me with him. For two years I lived like that until finally I couldn't take it anymore. I moved in with my drug-dealer boyfriend because I would have rather been blown up in a meth lab than deal with my father's alcoholic rages anymore." Pulling back, Alix looked him square in the face. "And I don't think I need to tell you to keep this to yourself. The last thing I need is this crazy shit winding up in my psych profile at work."

Hurt that she would doubt him; Spencer frowned at her and withdrew from her touch. "Alix, I'm not going to go run back to D.C. and tell everybody I know about this. It's your private business, and if you want it to stay that way then I'm fine with that."

Her smile wasn't very happy, but she did nod as she said, "Good. That's…that's good. Thank you, Spencer. I appreciate your discretion." She brushed her lips against the corner of his mouth, and he imagined that he'd be able to taste her sorrow if he licked his lips.

* * *

It was dark out by the time they got back to Alix's apartment. She pulled into her spot in the massive carport that she and her brother had erected in the old parking lot, a lower-cost solution to keep the snow off their tenants' vehicles, and killed the engine. The strange mood lingered though the music they'd used to cover it up had subsided into silence. The only sound in the car was the tick, tick, tick as the engine cooled.

At first she'd tried to talk, keeping her voice deliberately cheerful and bouncing from subject to subject as she tried to pretend that nothing was wrong.

Finally, Spencer had glanced over at her, waiting until he caught her gaze, and then carefully said, "Alix, it's okay to be in a bad mood."

Her teeth clicked as she shut her mouth on whatever she was about to say next. Unable to bear the quietness that rushed to fill its place, she'd cranked up the volume on the radio. Somewhere along the way she relaxed enough to tap her fingers on the wheel, singing along quietly to the parts of the songs that she knew; a phrase here and there, but never the entire song. She felt self-conscious all of the sudden, which was something she hadn't felt in Spencer's presence in weeks. Now though with her dirty laundry aired out to him, she wanted to retreat, she wanted to be anybody else but who she really was; she wanted to fade away into the old gray upholstery.

Spencer's hand wrapped around the fingers of her right hand where she was subconsciously white-knuckling the steering wheel, and he offered her a tiny smile. "Let's go upstairs," he said, but there was a hint of a question mark there in his eyes. He'd leave if she asked him to, if she'd rather be alone.

The strange thing was that she didn't want to be alone, not really. She just didn't know how to be so vulnerable in front of anyone and still look them in the eye.

Alix stepped out of the car and began walking toward the back entrance of the building, dodging between the row of flowering bushes she'd planted, and going up the narrow sidewalk. When Spencer hesitated behind her, she reached back quickly and kept him from dancing away, from heading to his car parked on the side of the road. He stilled. She got the door unlocked, and they pushed inside, got all the way upstairs without saying a word and inside her apartment too. Leaving her keys and purse on the counter, Alix wearily sat down on the sofa, a puff of air leaving her as she lowered herself a little too fast and her ribs twinged.

Reid didn't know what to do. Her false cheer had annoyed him; her perpetual silence worried him. It seemed that he couldn't win. He couldn't see past her blank face and tell what she was feeling or thinking, and he knew that asking her to talk about it would be disastrous. Alix didn't want to talk about the bad things. He understood why. She'd grown up in an environment where to cope with the trauma they had simply ignored it. Telling her to drag it all out into the open now was counter-intuitive to her. It made her more uncomfortable, not less.

He hovered in the kitchen anxiously, chewing on his lower lip. He watched her fidget on the couch, unable to settle. She turned on the TV, and then turned it back off after staring at the screen for a minute.

Alix sighed and drifted into the kitchen, and it was as she had her head leaned into the fridge, examining its contents, that he had an idea. He wasn't sure if it was the right idea—in the past few months he had dealt with more uncertainty than in the other thirty years of his life—but it was better than nothing.

She pulled out a bottle of beer, the dark, nutty, imported ale that she preferred, and opened the drawer where she kept the bottle opener.

Spencer stepped up behind her, and put his arms around her waist, palms flat on the fabric of her dress. "Alix…"

A quick little exhalation escaped her. It wasn't quite a sigh because it came out of her nose, not her mouth, but he knew that it would have been if she'd let herself.

"I'm not great at explaining things to others," he began, "Especially about, like, how I feel about things. That's…hard for me." Tucking his chin down, he nuzzled the back of her neck.

Her hands flattened on the counter.

"You," Spencer nipped her with his teeth, "don't like to talk about feelings."

Alix chuckled, and replied, "Understatement," in a low, melodic voice, almost like she was singing it.

"That's okay most of the time," he forged ahead, his tone mellow and relaxed, "But sometimes things like this happen, and you shut down, and I'm the clueless wonder—"

Her laughter came out like a sharp bark, and he grinned against her skin then bit her a little harder to punish her for it. A shiver traveled down her spine.

"I could talk until I was blue in the face, Alix," Spencer admitted in a whisper, "But I don't think you'd really believe me, not completely. You live your life wrapped in lies, whether at work or at home, and people who lie a lot find it difficult to believe in the truth even when it's right in front of them."

She stiffened in his arms, and drew a breath to argue. He pressed on her stomach, low enough that he was sure it wouldn't hurt her healing midsection, in warning. 'Let me speak,' he ordered her without words. Alix's protestations subsided. With his hands on her hips, he turned her around. She met his eyes defiantly, and he grinned to see a hint of her usual sass in them.

That was when he kissed her; she was getting mad at him, and he thought the moment was too perfect to pass up.

She bit his lip, and he laughed and mashed their mouths together with even more ferocity, loving that spark in her. It was the thing that had drawn him to her from the outset. Going home with a woman, one he'd just met in a bar no less was completely uncharacteristic for him, but he hadn't been able to refuse her vivaciousness, her lighthearted invitation. It was something he wanted to possess; he wanted to lick the sweat from her body like an elixir to give him whatever she had that he didn't.

By the time the kiss ended they were both breathless.

He slipped his fingers under her chin, kept her gaze locked with his, and told her straight-faced, "You understand actions, so that's what I'm giving you." Spencer waited until realization dawned in her eyes, and he tracked it with the widening of her eyelids, in her mouth opening in a tiny 'o'.

He kissed her again, put the beer back in the fridge, and led her by the hand into her room. He'd have to be careful, but he felt that it would be worth it when they lay side by side after and she looked up at him with that smile, the one that was soft, warm, intimate, the one he never saw her smile at anyone else; when she settled against him like an extension of himself once more-'everything is fine.'

They undressed slowly, standing at the foot of the bed. Her sweater went first, and then he slowly unzipped her dress, letting it slide to the floor. Her underwear was a matched set, white and lacy with a tiny bow between her breasts. Her shoes were toed off, and he pulled his vest off. She unknotted his tie with a slight smile as his hands hurriedly undid the buttons on his shirt, tossing his watch on the huge steamer trunk at the end of the wrought iron four-post bed. His shoes and socks, his pants, and after a moment's hesitation, his underwear, all joined the pile of clothes on the wooden floor. He stood nude in front of her, and did not try to cover himself or rush her gaze.

Spencer had no illusions about his body. He was tall and wiry, and always would be. He wasn't the most beautiful man in the world. Alix seemed to like it though; that was enough for him.

She leaned in close, brushing her lips against his. Her fingertips feathered delicately over his flat stomach, traced the line of dark brown hair that led to his groin, and his breath came out in a shaky exhalation. With a quirk to her lips that said without words she was pleased with his reaction, Alix kissed him for real, slow and languorous, her tongue swirling around his. He grasped her shoulders and kissed her back, sliding his hands down her front, cupping her lace-cradled breasts in his palms and massaging them the way that made her nipples peak so quickly.

Alix mewled into his mouth, and raked her nails lightly up his chest. It made him gasp as he followed the edge of her bra band around her sides with each of his index fingers. When they met at the clasp, he popped the little hooks out—he was getting a lot better at that—and drew the now-useless fabric out of the way. He was so caught up in her that it took a minute to notice that her hands had left him.

He opened his eyes and drew back just in time to watch the matching lace hipsters go the way of the rest of their clothes—that is, to the ground. As always, the sight of her made his breath come short—pale and perfectly curved, looking like something he'd paint if he had such a talent. She grinned wickedly at the poleaxed expression on his face, and asked sweetly, "Do you think you could help me take these off?" She traced the lace edge of her left thigh-high, looking up at him coyly from beneath the dark fan of her eyelashes. "It was hard enough getting them on by myself," Alix admitted, the barest hint of a tease overlaying the truthfulness of her statement.

Smiling at her, Spencer told her, "Of course. Get on the bed. Carefully."

She grinned. "When am I anything but?" However, he noticed that she followed his instructions, moving a bit gingerly onto the bed spread. Lying on her back horizontally across the mattress, she lifted her leg, toes pointed. He grasped her foot in his hands, and slid them up the satiny nylon, grasping the lace top in his fingers. He ran them on her skin underneath the fabric, listening for that quick intake of breath then pulled the fabric down. After repeating the procedure, Spencer crawled up after her, and she welcomed him between her legs. Using them like an extra pair of arms, she hitched them up around his waist, and he lowered himself in a half-pushup motion, bringing their lower halves together as his mouth found hers. He made sure to keep his weight off of her upper body, even when her hips twisted against his, and her hands curved over his back, trying to bring him in closer.

Resisting, Spencer pulled back from her lips far enough to say sternly, "Stop that, or it ends now."

Alix made a face at him. "Fine, fine," she huffed, and moved her hands lower so that she cupped his butt, moving him against her with a little tug, "But then get on with it. Trust me, I don't need a lot of foreplay tonight."

He grinned and ducked his head, licking her throat, nibbling over the tendon that stretched and stood out rigidly as she groaned and tipped her head back against the bedspread. "We'll see," he murmured, as he ran a hand up her thigh, and lifted his lower body up. His fingertips stroked the velvety softness of her skin just where it connected to her groin, and then fluttered over her outer lips. She gasped and twitched, and he caught a wince on her face before she managed to hide it.

Alix must have moved wrong again, but she didn't dare tell him to stop. It was a small pain, an irritant really; it wasn't enough to make her want to give this up. It wasn't that she thought that having sex would make her problems go away; she'd wake up tomorrow and still have the same issues buried deep within her. It was more about reaffirming that Spencer still wanted her even though she was a head case whose only coping method in life seemed to be 'ignore it and it will go away.' It was about making sure that his newfound knowledge didn't change them, as a couple. The sex, the orgasm was just a part of that, a by-product of the need to connect.

Opening her up, his fingers played in her wetness, and his mouth trailed over her collarbone. "Stay still," he whispered against her skin. "I don't want to hurt you."

She agreed with a nod, though it was an act of will as he slid inside of her, and stroked her inner walls, looking for and finding just the right angle to make that tiny, shocked "oh!" pop out of her mouth. Alix felt him grin as he kissed the skin over her heart, and run his lips up over her neck once more, nipping her chin on her way to her gently parted, kiss-swollen pout. With his thumb, he began rubbing the swollen bundle of nerves just above her slit, and her breathing began to speed up.

Alix broke away from him with a gasp mewling his name in _that_ tone, the one that sent a fissure of lust streaking down his spine, his scrotum drawing up tight against his body. Roughly translated, _that tone_ meant 'please, please, now.'

Hands holding him up on the bed, Spencer slid within her, the slick channel grasping him, pulling him in without resistance. God, she was so tightwethot, so _good_, and he shamefully admitted to himself that he'd missed this; he'd missed it a lot, maybe more than he should have.

"Mm, oh, yes," her murmured words fanned across his neck as she trailed her lips over him. "Please move. Please. God, that's so good."

He shifted, and she let out a joyous little cry. Seeing her ecstatic nature and knowing the cause of it was the reunion of their flesh, Spencer cast aside his guilt. It wasn't just him craving her body; it was her craving him as well. Somehow, that made it okay. The needs of the flesh hadn't superseded their caring for each other, but rather was a part of it. Buried within her once more, and feeling that everything was as it should be made him realize that.

His lips feathered over her hair, her forehead and eyebrows, down her nose and across her cheeks. He felt intoxicated, and as he moved, his thrust shallow and leisurely, and her eyes darkened with ecstasy, Spencer concluded that he quite liked this game. She obeyed him, and didn't move, trusting him to play her body like an instrument. He pushed her to her climax, adjusting his angle slightly, remembering the precise way he'd had to curl his fingers to find her G-spot, and then he was running his length over that same place within her, listening to her cry out and pant his name—he was the artist now; she the canvas-her hands clutching his flexing ass with something akin to desperation.

She snaked a hand between them, finding her clit with deft fingertips, and circling the slick, swollen flesh in rough circles. The look on her face was wild. Sweat was beading at her temples. He licked it off, a quick swipe of his tongue, and it dawned on him that he felt as wild and frenzied, and the control he had over his body was slipping.

"Yes!" she cried out as he thrust within her fast and harder than he'd meant to. Her nails bit into his skin, traveled up his back until she fisted his curls, and pulled back. Alix bit him and sucked, her tongue laving over his frantic pulse, and he came with a low groan, feeling her tighten around him, wringing out every last drop of his pleasure.

She fell back, breathing fast.

His arms felt weak, so he pulled out of her before he was really ready to, collapsing by her side.

A shudder traveled down her frame, and she reached down, covering her over sensitized flesh.

Spencer kissed her shoulder and said, "Your past doesn't change how I feel about you, not even a little. Besides, I already kind of knew. I'm a profiler, and a genius. Give me some credit, Alix."

She eyed him sidelong, and finally shook her head and laughed. After a moment, she decided to shrug off the heavy weight of history in favor of something better. "That was wonderful." Her voice was quiet, but heated. He'd always wondered how such cool, green eyes could spark with such heat, but they did. He felt a surge of masculine pride. Then he glanced down, saw her teasing herself, drawing out the golden glow of orgasm just a little bit longer.

"I forgot to use a condom," he admitted.

Her shrug was casual. "On the pill, remember?"

"Yes, but…your bed is…" Already he could see that her fingers were wet with their combined fluids, his sticky semen and the thinner liquid that her body produced to lubricate their union. "That's…disgusting," Spencer said, but hesitated because even as he said it something within him was flaring with sexual interest at the sight.

Alix watched the expressions passing over his face, and whatever she saw reassured her. She laughed, dark and heady, and kept touching herself. "Are you sure?" she asked throatily.

He swallowed convulsively. "No," he admitted, and he watched her face screw up in concentration as she shivered and came again with a little sigh.

Afterward, they laid together as entwined as two people could possibly be, Reid thought about anglerfish, how the males latched onto the females and became a part of them. If one conveniently forgot that the males began to die the instant this happened, that they existed only long enough to release their sperm into the female when she ovulated, it was almost romantic; two beings living symbiotically as one.

He glanced down at his girlfriend, slumped mostly on his chest and breathing quietly, the space between them lengthening. She was falling asleep. He murmured quietly, "We'll have to wash the comforter tomorrow."

Alix hummed contentedly. "Worth it," was all she said, and that was the last thing she said before she dropped off to sleep.

* * *

Later that night when Marie Coolidge showed up in her dreams bearing her teeth, Alix punched that bitch square in the face.

The dream shifted.

She was at her brother's house making out with Spencer in front of a fire. The scent of grilled meats and charred wood hung heavily in the air. There was a pop and a boom and a sizzle as a golden shower of sparks littered the sky. Their spotted, old mutt, Billy, danced and woofed, shying away from the site where Rob was setting up another round. She felt happy.

Alix extricated herself from Spencer's arms, laughing as she ran over to Rob and stole the lighter. "You're doing it wrong, stupid."

"You're stupid," he said, and made a face at her.

The next round of fireworks was a team effort.

The night was perfect.

Somewhere in the woods she felt the monsters finally lay down in defeat.

* * *

-FIN-


End file.
